Title: The Spy in Black
Author: Clouston, J. Storer (Joseph Storer), 1870-1944
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.


*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Spy in Black" ***


The Spy in Black



BY

J. STORER CLOUSTON


AUTHOR OF

'THE LUNATIC AT LARGE,' ETC.



William Blackwood and Sons

Edinburgh and London

1917

_ALL RIGHTS RESERVED_



BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

  TWO'S TWO.
  THE LUNATIC AT LARGE.
  THE ADVENTURES OF M. D'HARICOT.
  OUR LADY'S INN.
  GAR-MISCATH.
  THE PRODIGAL FATHER.
  THE PEER'S PROGRESS.
  HIS FIRST OFFENCE.



CONTENTS.


PART I.

THE NARRATIVE OF LIEUTENANT VON BELKE
  (OF THE GERMAN NAVY).
TOC
    I.  THE LANDING
   II.  NIGHT IN THE RUINED HOUSE
  III.  BEHIND THE WALL
   IV.  THE NAILS
    V.  WAITING
ETOC

PART II.

A FEW CHAPTERS BY THE EDITOR.
TOC
    I.  THE PLEASANT STRANGER
   II.  THE CHAUFFEUR
  III.  ON THE CLIFF
   IV.  MR DRUMMOND'S VISITOR
    V.  ON THE MAIL BOAT
   VI.  THE VANISHING GOVERNESS
ETOC

PART III.

LIEUTENANT VON BELKE'S NARRATIVE RESUMED.
TOC
    I.  THE MEETING
   II.  TIEL'S STORY
  III.  THE PLAN
   IV.  WHAT HAPPENED ON SUNDAY
    V.  A MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURE
   VI.  THE VISITOR
  VII.  AT NIGHT
 VIII.  THE DECISION
   IX.  ON THE SHORE
ETOC

PART IV.

LIEUTENANT VON BELKE'S NARRATIVE CONCLUDED.
TOC
    I.  WEDNESDAY
   II.  THURSDAY
  III.  THURSDAY NIGHT
   IV.  FRIDAY
ETOC

PART V.

A FEW CONCLUDING CHAPTERS BY THE EDITOR,
TOC
    I.  TIEL'S JOURNEY
   II.  THE LADY
  III.  THE EMPTY ENVELOPE
ETOC



PART I.

THE NARRATIVE OF LIEUTENANT VON BELKE

(OF THE GERMAN NAVY)



I.

THE LANDING.

If any one had been watching the bay that August night (which,
fortunately for us, there was not), they would have seen up till an
hour after midnight as lonely and peaceful a scene as if it had been
some inlet in Greenland.  The war might have been waging on another
planet.  The segment of a waning moon was just rising, but the sky was
covered with clouds, except right overhead where a bevy of stars
twinkled, and it was a dim though not a dark night.  The sea was as
flat and calm as you can ever get on an Atlantic coast--a glassy
surface, but always a gentle regular bursting of foam upon the beach.
In a semicircle the shore rose black, towering at either horn (and
especially on the south) into high dark cliffs.

I suppose a bird or two may have been crying then as they were a little
later, but there was not a light nor a sign of anything human being
within a hundred miles.  If one of the Vikings who used to live in
those islands had revisited that particular glimpse of the moon, he
could never have guessed that his old haunts had altered a tittle.  But
if he had waited a while he would have rubbed his eyes and wondered.
Right between the headlands he would have seen it dimly:--a great thing
that was not a fish rising out of the calm water, and then very
stealthily creeping in and in towards the southern shore.

When we were fairly on the surface I came on deck and gazed over the
dark waters to the darker shore, with--I don't mind confessing it
now--a rather curious sensation.  To tell the truth, I was a little
nervous, but I think I showed no sign of it to Wiedermann.

"You have thought of everything you can possibly need?" he asked in a
low voice.

"Everything, sir, I think," I answered confidently.

"No need to give you tips!" he said with a laugh.

I felt flattered--but still my heart was beating just a little faster
than usual!

In we crept closer and closer, with the gentlest pulsation of our
engines that could not have been heard above the lapping of the waves
on the pebbles.  An invisible gull or two wheeled and cried above us,
but otherwise there was an almost too perfect stillness.  I could not
help an uncomfortable suspicion that _someone_ was watching.  _Someone_
would soon be giving the alarm, _someone_ would presently be playing
the devil with my schemes.  It was sheer nonsense, but then I had never
played the spy before--at least, not in war-time.

Along the middle of the bay ran a beach of sand and pebbles, with dunes
and grass links above, but at the southern end the water was deep close
inshore, and there were several convenient ledges of rock between the
end of this beach and the beginning of the cliffs.  The submarine came
in as close as she dared, and then, without an instant's delay, the
boat was launched.  Wiedermann, myself, two sailors, and the
motor-bicycle just managed to squeeze in, and we cautiously pulled for
the ledges.

The tide was just right (we had thought of everything, I must say
that), and after a minute or two's groping along the rocks, we found a
capital landing.  Wiedermann and I jumped ashore as easily as if it had
been a quay, and my bicycle should have been landed without a hitch.
How it happened I know not, but just as the sailors were lifting it
out, the boat swayed a little and one of the clumsy fellows let his end
of it slip.  A splash of spray broke over it; a mere nothing, it seemed
at the time, and then I had hold of it and we lifted it on to the ledge.

Wiedermann spoke sharply to the man, but I assured him no harm had been
done, and between us we wheeled the thing over the flat rocks, and
pulled it up to the top of the grass bank beyond.

"I can manage all right by myself now," I said.  "Good-bye, sir!"

He gave my hand a hard clasp.

"This is Thursday night," he said.  "We shall be back on Sunday,
Monday, and Tuesday nights, remember."

"The British Navy and the weather permitting!" I laughed.

"Do not fear!" said he.  "I shall be here, and we shall get you aboard
somehow.  Come any one of those nights that suits _him_."

"That suits him?" I laughed.  "Say rather that suits Providence!"

"Well," he repeated, "I'll be here anyhow.  Good luck!"

We saluted, and I started on my way, wheeling my bicycle over the
grass.  I confess, however, that I had not gone many yards before I
stopped and looked back.  Wiedermann had disappeared from the top of
the bank, and in a moment I heard the faint sounds of the boat rowing
back.  Very dimly against the grey sea I could just pick out the
conning tower and low side of the submarine.  The gulls were still
crying, but in a more sombre key, I fancied.

So here was I, Conrad von Belke, lieutenant in the German Navy,
treading British turf underfoot, cut off from any hope of escape for
three full days at least!  And it was not ordinary British turf either.
I was on the holy of holies, actually landed on those sacred,
jealously-guarded islands (which, I presume, I must not even name
here), where the Grand Fleet had its lair.  As to the mere act of
landing, well, you have just seen that there was no insuperable
difficulty in stepping ashore from a submarine at certain places, if
the conditions were favourable and the moment cunningly chosen; but I
proposed to penetrate to the innermost sanctuary, and spend at least
three days there--a very different proposition!

I had been chosen for this service for three reasons: because I was
supposed to be a cool hand in what the English call a "tight place";
because I could talk English not merely fluently, but with the real
accent and intonation--like a native, in fact; and I believe because
they thought me not quite a fool.  As you shall hear, there was to be
one much wiser than I to guide me.  He was indeed the brain of this
desperate enterprise, and I but his messenger and assistant.  Still,
one wants a messenger with certain qualities, and as it is the chief
object of this narrative to clear my honour in the eyes of those who
sent me, I wish to point out that they deliberately chose me for this
job--I did not select myself--and that I did my best.

It was my own idea to take a motor-bicycle, but it was an idea
cordially approved by those above me.  There were several obvious
advantages.  A motor-cyclist is not an uncommon object on the roads
even of those out-of-the-way islands, so that my mere appearance would
attract no suspicion; and besides, they would scarcely expect a visitor
of my sort to come ashore equipped with such an article.  Also, I would
cover the ground quickly, and, if it came to the worst, might have a
chance of evading pursuit.  But there was one reason which particularly
appealed to me: I could wear my naval uniform underneath a suit of
cyclist's overalls, and so if I were caught might make a strong plea to
escape the fate of a spy; in fact, I told myself I was not a
spy,--simply a venturesome scout.  Whether the British would take the
same view of me was another question!  Still, the motor-cycle did give
me a chance.

My first task was to cover the better part of twenty miles before
daybreak and join forces with "him" in the very innermost shrine of
this sanctuary--or rather, on the shore of it.  This seemed a simple
enough job; I had plenty of time, the roads, I knew, were good, nobody
would be stirring (or anyhow, ought to be) at that hour, and the
arrangements for my safe reception were, as you shall hear, remarkably
ingenious.  If I once struck the hard main road, I really saw nothing
that could stop me.

The first thing was to strike this road.  Of course I knew the map by
heart, and had a copy in my pocket as a precaution that was almost
superfluous, but working by map-memory in the dark is not so easy when
one is going across country.

The grassy bank fell gently before me as the land sloped down from the
cliffs to the beach, and I knew that within a couple of hundred yards I
should find a rough road which followed the shore for a short way, and
then when it reached the links above the beach, turned at right angles
across them to join the highroad.  Accordingly I bumped my motor-cycle
patiently over the rough grass, keeping close to the edge of the bank
so as to guide myself, and every now and then making a detour of a few
yards inland to see whether the road had begun.  The minutes passed,
the ground kept falling till I was but a little above the level of the
glimmering sea, the road ought to have begun to keep me company long
ago, but never a sign of it could I find.  Twice in my detours I
stumbled into what seemed sand-holes, and turned back out of them
sharply.  And then at last I realised that I had ceased to descend for
the last hundred yards or more, and in fact must be on the broad
stretch of undulating sea links that fringed the head of the bay.  But
where was my road?

I stopped, bade myself keep quite cool and composed, and peered round
me into the night.  The moon was farther up and it had become a little
lighter, but the clouds still obscured most of the sky and it was not
light enough to see much.  Overhead were the stars; on one hand the
pale sea merged into the dark horizon; all around me were low black
hummocks that seem to fade into an infinity of shadows.  The gulls
still cried mournfully, and a strong pungent odour of seaweed filled
the night air.  I remember that pause very vividly.

I should have been reckless enough to light a cigarette had I not
feared that our submarine might still be on the surface, and Wiedermann
might see the flash and dub me an idiot.  I certainly needed a smoke
very badly and took some credit to myself for refraining (though
perhaps I ought really have given it to Wiedermann).  And then I
decided to turn back, slanting, however, a little away from the sea so
as to try and cut across the road.  A minute or two later I tumbled
into a small chasm and came down with the bicycle on top of me.  I had
found my road.

The fact was that the thing, though marked on the large-scale map as a
road of the third, fourth, or tenth quality (I forget which), was
actually nothing more or less than three parallel crevasses in the turf
filled with loose sand.  It was into these crevasses that I had twice
stumbled already.  Now with my back to the sea and keeping a yard or
two away from this wretched track, but with its white sand to guide me,
I pushed my motor-cycle laboriously over the rough turf for what seemed
the better part of half an hour.  In reality I suppose it was under ten
minutes, but with the night passing and that long ride before me, I
never want a more patience-testing job.  And then suddenly the white
sand ceased.  I stepped across to see what was the matter, and found
myself on a hard highroad.  It was a branch of the main road that led
towards the shore, and for the moment I had quite forgotten its
existence.  I could have shouted for joy.

"Now," I said to myself, "I'm off!"

And off I went, phut-phut-phutting through the cool night air, with a
heart extraordinarily lightened.  That little bit of trouble at the
start had made the rest of the whole wild enterprise seem quite simple
now that it was safely over.

I reached the end of this branch, swung round to the right into the
highroad proper and buzzed along like a tornado.  The sea by this time
had vanished, but I saw the glimmer of a loch on my left, and close at
hand low walls and dim vistas of cultivated fields.  A dark low
building whizzed by, and then a gaunt eerie-looking standing stone, and
then came a dip and beyond it a little rise in the ground.  As I took
this rise there suddenly came upon me a terrible sinking of the heart.
Phut-phut! went my cycle, loudly and emphatically, and then came a
horrible pause.  Phut!  once more; then two or three feeble explosions,
and then silence.  My way stopped; I threw over my leg and landed on
the road.

"What the devil!" I muttered.

I had cleaned the thing, oiled it, seen that everything was in order;
what in heaven's name could be the matter?  And then with a dreadful
sensation I remembered that wave of salt water.



II.

NIGHT IN THE RUINED HOUSE.

You may smile to think of a sailor being dismayed by a splash of salt
water; but not if you are a motor-cyclist!  Several very diabolical
consequences may ensue.

In the middle of that empty road, in that alien land, under the hostile
stars, I took my electric torch and endeavoured to discover what was
the matter.  From the moment I remembered the probable salt, wet cause
of my mishap I had a pretty hopeless feeling.  At the end of ten
minutes I felt not merely quite hopeless, but utterly helpless.
Helpless as a child before a charging elephant, hopeless as a man at
the bottom of an Alpine crevasse.  Ignition, carburettor, what had been
damaged?  In good daylight it might take me an hour or two first to
discover and then to mend.  By the radiance of my torch I would
probably spend a night or two, and be none the wiser.

And meantime the precious dark hours were slipping away, and scattered
all over the miles of country lay foemen sleeping--nothing but foes.  I
was in a sea-girt isle with but one solitary friend, and he was nearly
twenty miles away, and I had the strictest orders not to approach him
save under the cover of darkness.  Enough cause for a few pretty black
moments, I think you will allow.

And then I took myself by the scruff of the neck and gave myself a
hearty shake.  Had I been picked for this errand because I was a coward
or a resourceless fool?  No!  Well, then, I must keep my head and use
my wits, and if I could not achieve the best thing, I must try to do
the second best.  I ran over all the factors in the problem.

Firstly, to wait in the middle of that road trying to accomplish a job
which I knew perfectly well it was a thousand chances to one against my
managing, was sheer perverse folly.

Secondly, to leave my cycle in a ditch and try to cover the distance on
my own two legs before daybreak was a physical impossibility.  My cycle
being one of the modern kind with no pedals, I could not even essay the
dreadful task of grinding it along with my feet.  Therefore I could not
reach my haven to-night by any conceivable means.

On the other hand, I would still be expected to-morrow night, for our
plans were laid to allow something for mischances; so if I could
conceal myself and my cycle through the coming day, all might yet be
well.  Therefore I must devise some plan for concealing myself.

Logic had brought me beautifully so far, but now came the rub--Where
was I to hide?  These islands, you may or may not know, are to all
practical purposes treeless and hedgeless.  They have many moors and
waste places, but of an abominable kind for a fugitive--especially a
fugitive with a motor-cycle.  The slopes are long and usually gentle
and quite exposed; ravines and dells are few and far between and
farther still to reach.  Caves and clefts among the rocks might be
found no doubt, but I should probably break my neck looking for them in
the dark.  Conceive of a man with a motor-bicycle looking for a cave by
starlight!

And then a heaven-sent inspiration visited me.  On board we had of
course maps with every house marked, however small, and who lived in
it, and so on.  We do things thoroughly, even though at the moment
there may not be any apparent reason for some of the details.  I
blessed our system now, for suddenly in my mind's eye I saw a certain
group of farm buildings marked "ruinous and uninhabited."  And now
where the devil was it?

My own pocket map of course had no such minute details and I had to
work my memory hard.  And then in a flash I saw the map as distinctly
as if it had really been under my eye instead of safely under the
Atlantic.  "I have a chance still!" I said to myself.

By the light of my torch I had a careful look at my small map, and then
I set forth pushing my lifeless cycle.  To get to my refuge I had to
turn back and retrace my steps (or perhaps I should rather say my
revolutions) part way to the shore till I came to a road branching
southwards, roughly parallel to the coast.  It ascended continuously
and pretty steeply, and I can assure you it was stiff work pushing a
motor-cycle up that interminable hill, especially when one was clad for
warmth and not for exercise.  Dimly in the waxing moonlight I could see
low farm buildings here and there, but luckily not a light shone nor a
dog barked from one of them.  Glancing over my shoulder I saw the sea,
now quite distinct and with a faint sheen upon its surface, widening
and widening as I rose.  But I merely glanced at it enviously and
concentrated my attention on the task of finding my "ruinous and
uninhabited" farm.  I twice nearly turned off the road too soon, but I
did find it at last--a low tumble-down group of little buildings some
two hundred yards or so off the road on the right, or seaward side.
Here the cultivated fields stopped, and beyond them the road ascended
through barren moorland.  My refuge was, in fact, the very last of the
farms as one went up the hill.  It lay pretty isolated from the others,
and there was a track leading to it that enabled me to push my cycle
along fairly comfortably.

"I might have come to a much worse place!" I said to myself hopefully.

Though there was not a sign of life about the place, and not a sound of
any kind, I still proceeded warily, as I explored the derelict farm.  I
dared not even use my torch till I had stooped through an open door,
and was safely within one of the buildings.  When I flashed it round me
I saw then that I stood in a small and absolutely empty room, which
might at one time have been anything from a parlour to a byre, but now
seemed consecrated to the cultivation of nettles.  It had part of a
roof overhead, and seemed as likely to suit my purpose as any other of
the dilapidated group, so I brought my cycle in, flattened a square
yard or two of nettles, and sat down on the floor with my back against
the wall.  And then I lit a cigarette and meditated.

"My young friend," I said to myself, "you are in an awkward position,
but, remember, you have been in awkward positions before when there
were no such compensating advantages!  Let us consider these advantages
and grow cheerful.  You are privileged to render your country such a
service as few single Germans have been able to render her--if this
plan succeeds!  If it fails, your sacrifice will not be unknown or
unappreciated.  Whatever happens, you will have climbed a rung or two
up the ladder of duty, and perhaps of fame."

This eloquence pleased my young friend so much that he lit another
cigarette.

"Consider again," I resumed, "what an opportunity you have been
unexpectedly presented with for exhibiting your resourcefulness and
your coolness and your nerve!  If it had not been for that wave of salt
water your task would have been almost too simple.  Your own share of
the enterprise would merely have consisted in a couple of easy rides on
a motor-cycle, and perhaps the giving of a few suggestions, or the
making of a few objections, which would probably have been brushed
aside as worthless.  Now you have really something to test you!"

This oration produced a less exhilarating effect.  In fact, it set me
to wondering very gravely how I could best justify this implied tribute
to my powers of surmounting difficulties.  Till the day broke all I had
to do was to sit still, but after that--what?  I pondered for a few
minutes, and then I came to the conclusion that an hour or two's sleep
would probably freshen my wits.  I knew I could count on waking when
the sun rose, and so I closed my eyes, and presently was fast asleep.

When I awoke, it was broad daylight.  Looking first through the
pane-less window and then through the gap in the roof, I saw that it
was a grey, still morning that held promise of a fine day, though
whether that was to my advantage or disadvantage I did not feel quite
sure.  Nobody seemed to be stirring yet about the houses or fields, so
I had still time for deliberation before fate forced my hand.

First of all, I had a look round my immediate surroundings.  I was well
sheltered, as all the walls were standing, and there was most of a roof
over my head (the last being a point of some importance in case any
aircraft chanced to make a flight in this direction).  It is true that
the door was gone, but even here I seemed fortunate, for another small
building, also dilapidated-looking but in somewhat better condition,
stood right opposite the open doorway and hid it completely.  This
little building still had a dishevelled door which stood closed, and
for a moment I half thought of changing my shelter and taking
possession of it; and then I decided that where fate had directed my
steps, there should I abide.

The next thing obviously was to overhaul my motor-cycle, and this I set
about at once, though all the time my thoughts kept working.  In the
course of an hour or so I had located the trouble in the carburettor
and put it right again, and I had also begun to realise a few of the
pros and cons of the situation.

I now ate a few sandwiches, had a pull at my flask, lit a cigarette,
and put the case to myself squarely.

"With a motor-cycle, the whole island at my disposal, and daylight in
which to search it through, I can surely find a hiding-place a little
farther removed from inquisitive neighbours," I said to myself.  "So
the sooner I am off the better."

But then I answered back--

"On the other hand it may take me some hours to find a better spot than
this, and a man tearing about the country on a motor-cycle is decidedly
more conspicuous in the early morning than in the middle of the day or
the afternoon when cyclists are natural objects.

"But again, if I do think of leaving this place I certainly ought not
to be seen in the act of emerging from a ruinous house pushing my
cycle--not, at least, if I wish to be considered a normal feature of
the landscape.  I have a chance of escaping now unobserved; shall I
have such a chance later in the day?"

Finally I decided to compromise.  I should stay where I was till the
hour when all the farmers had their midday meal.  Then I might well
hope to slip out unobserved, and thereafter scour the country looking
for the ideal hiding-place without attracting any particular attention.
But whatever merits this scheme may have had were destined never to be
tested.

From my seat amid the nettles I could see right through the open door,
and my eyes all this while were resting on the glimpse of grey building
outside.  All at once I held my breath, and the hand that was lifting a
cigarette to my lips grew rigid.  A thin wisp of smoke was rising from
the chimney.



III.

BEHIND THE WALL.

"Ruinous" these farm buildings certainly were; but
"uninhabited"--obviously not quite!  I rose stealthily and crossed to
the door, and just as I reached it the door of the other house began to
open.  I stepped back and peered round the corner for quite a minute
before anything more happened.  My neighbour, whoever he was, seemed
unconscionably slow in his movements.

And then a very old, bent, and withered woman appeared, with a grey
shawl about her head.  As she looked slowly round her, first to one
side and then to the other, I cautiously drew back; but even as I did
so I knew it was too late.  A wisp of smoke had given us both away.
This time it was a trail from my cigarette which I could see quite
plainly drifting through the open door.

I heard her steps coming towards me, and then her shadow filled the
doorway.  There was nothing for it but taking the bull by the horns.

"Good morning!" I said genially.

She did not start.  She did not speak.  She just stared at me out of as
unpleasant-looking a pair of old eyes as I have ever looked into.  I
suspected at once why the old crone lived here by herself; she did not
look as if she would be popular among her neighbours.

"I think it is going to be a fine day," I continued breezily.

She simply continued to stare; and if ever I saw suspicion in human
eyes, I saw it in hers.

"What do you think yourself?" I inquired with a smile.  "I have no
doubt you are more weatherwise than I."

Then at last she spoke, and I thought I had never heard a more sinister
remark.

"Maybe it will be a fine day for some," she replied.

"I hope I may be one of them!" I said as cheerfully as possible.

She said not one word in reply, and her silence completed the ominous
innuendo.

It struck me that a word of explanation would be advisable.

"My bicycle broke down," I said, "and I took the liberty of bringing it
in here to repair it."

Her baleful gaze turned upon my hapless motor-cycle.

"What for did you have to mend it in here?" she inquired; very
pertinently, I could not but admit.

"It was the most convenient place I could find," I replied carelessly.

"To keep it from the rain maybe?" she suggested.

"Well," I admitted, "a roof has some advantages."

"Then," said she, "you've been here a long while, for there's been no
rain since I wakened up."

"But I didn't say I came here for shelter," I said hastily.

She stared at me again for a few moments.

"You're saying first one thing and then the other," she pronounced.

I felt inclined to tell her that she had missed her vocation.  What a
terrible specimen of the brow-beating, cross-examining lawyer she would
have made!  However, I decided that my safest line was cheerful
politeness.

"Have it your own way, my good dame!" I said lightly.

Her evil eyes transfixed me.

"You'll be a foreigner," she said.

"A foreigner!" I exclaimed; "why on earth should you think that?"

"You're using queer words," she replied.

"What words?" I demanded.

"Dame is the German for an old woman," said she.

This astonishing philological discovery might have amused me at another
time, but at this moment it only showed me too clearly how her thoughts
were running.

"Well," said I, "if it's German, I can only say it is the first word of
that beastly language I've ever spoken!"

Again I was answered by a very ominous silence.  It occurred to me very
forcibly that the sooner I removed myself from this neighbourhood the
better.

"Well," I said, "my bicycle is mended now, so I had better be off."

"You had that," she agreed.

"Good-bye!" I cried as I led my cycle out, but she never spoke a
syllable in reply.

"Fate has not lost much time in forcing my hand!" I said to myself as I
pushed my motor-cycle along the track towards the highroad.  I thought
it wiser not to look round, but just before I reached the road I
glanced over my left shoulder, and there was the old woman crossing the
fields at a much brisker pace than I should have given her credit for,
and heading straight for the nearest farm.  My hand was being forced
with a vengeance.

Instinctively I should liked to have turned uphill and got clear of
this district immediately, but I was not sure how my cycle would behave
itself, and dared not risk a stiff ascent to begin with.  So I set off
at top speed down the road I had come the night before, passing the old
crone at a little distance off, and noticing more than one labourer in
the fields or woman at a house door, staring with interest at this
early morning rider.  When the news had spread of where he had come
from, and with what language he interlarded his speech, they might do
something more than stare.  There was a telegraph-office not at all far
away.

As I sped down that hill and swung round away from the sea at the foot,
I did a heap of quick thinking.  As things had turned out I dared not
make for any place of concealment far off the highroads.  Now that
there was a probability of the hue and cry being raised, or at least of
a look-out being kept for me, the chances of successfully slipping up
the valley of some burn without any one's notice were enormously
decreased.  I had but to glance round at the openness of the
countryside to realise that.  No; on the highroads I could at least run
away, but up in the moors I should be a mere trapped rat.

Then I had the bright thought of touring in zigzag fashion round and
round the island, stopping every here and there to address an
inhabitant and leave a false clue, so as to confuse my possible
pursuers.  But what about my petrol?  I might need every drop if I
actually did come to be chased.  So I gave up that scheme.

Finally, I decided upon a plan which really seems to me now to be as
promising as any I could think of.  About the least likely place to
look for me would be a few miles farther along the same road that ran
past my last night's refuge, in the opposite direction from that in
which people had seen me start.  I resolved to make a detour and then
work back to that road.

I had arrived at this decision by the time I reached the scene of last
night's mishap.  Fortunately my cycle was running like a deer now, and
I swept up the little slope in a few seconds and sped round the loch,
opening up fresh vistas of round-topped heather hills and wide green or
brown valleys every minute.  At a lonely bit of the road I jumped off,
studied my map afresh, and then dashed on again.

Presently a side road opened, leading back towards the coast, and round
the corner I sped; but even as I did so the utter hopelessness of my
performance struck me vividly--that is to say, if a really serious and
organised hunt for me were to be set afoot.  For the roadside was
dotted with houses, often at considerable intervals it is true, but
then all of them had such confoundedly wide views over that open
country.  There was a house or two at the very corner where I turned,
and I distinctly saw a face appearing at a window to watch me thunder
past.  The noise these motor-cycles make is simply infernal!

It was then that I fell into the true spirit for such an adventure.
Since the chances were everywhere against me _if_ my enemies took
certain steps, well then, the only thing to do was to hope they did not
take them and dismiss that matter from my mind.  I was taking the best
precautions I could think of, and the cooler I kept and better spirits
I was in, the more likely would luck be to follow me.  For luck is a
discerning lady and likes those who trust her.  Accordingly, the sun
being now out and the morning beautifully fine, I decided to enjoy the
scenery and make the most of a day ashore.

My first step was to ease up and ride just as slowly as I could, and
then I saw at once that I was doing the wisest thing in every way.  I
made less noise and less dust, and was altogether much less of a
phenomenon.  And this encouraged me greatly to keep to my new
resolution.

"If I leave it all to luck, she will advise me well!" I said to myself.

I headed coastwards through a wide marshy valley with but few houses
about, and in a short time saw the sea widening before me and presently
struck the road I was seeking.  At the junction I obeyed an impulse,
and, jumping off my cycle, paused to survey the scenery.  A fertile
vale fell from where I stood, down to a small bay between headlands.
It was filled with little farms, and all at once there came over me an
extraordinary impression of peacefulness and rest.  Could it actually
be that this was a country at war; that naval war, indeed, was very
very close at hand, and beneath those shining waters a submarine might
even now be stealing or a loose mine drifting?  The wide, sunshiny,
placid atmosphere of the scene, with its vast expanse of clear blue
sky, larks singing high up and sea-birds crying about the shore,
soothed my spirits like a magician's wand.  I mounted and rode on again
in an amazingly pleasant frame of mind for a spy within a
hair's-breadth of capture, and very probably of ignominious death.

Up a long hill my engine gently throbbed, with moorland on either side
that seemed to be so desolated by the gales and sea spray that even
heather could scarcely flourish.  I meant to stop and rest by the
wayside, but after a look at the map I thought on the whole I had
better put another mile or two between me and the lady with the baleful
eyes.  At the top I had a very wide prospect of inland country to the
left, a treeless northern-looking scene, all green and brown with many
lakes reflecting the sunshine.  A more hopeless land to hide in I never
beheld, and I was confirmed in my reckless resolution.  Chance alone
must protect me.

Down a still steeper hill I rode, only now amid numberless small farms
and with another bay shining ahead.  The road ran nearly straight into
the water and then bent suddenly and followed the rim of the bay, with
nothing but empty sea-links on the landward side.  The farms were left
behind, a mansion-house by the shore was still a little distance ahead,
and there was not a living soul in sight as I came to a small
stone-walled enclosure squeezed in between the road and the beach
below.  I jumped off, led my cycle round this and laid it on the
ground, and then seated myself with my back against the low wall of
loose stones and my feet almost projecting over the edge of the steep
slope of pebbles that fell down to the sand.

I was only just out of sight, but unless any one should walk along the
beach, out of sight I certainly was, and it struck me forcibly that
ever since I had given myself up to luck, every impulse had been an
inspiration.  If I were conducting the search for myself, would I ever
dream of looking for the mysterious runaway behind a wall three feet
high within twenty paces of a public road and absolutely exposed to a
wide sweep of beach?  "No," I told myself, "I certainly should not!"

There I sat for hour after hour basking in the sunshine, and yet
despite my heavy clothing kept at a bearable temperature by gentle airs
of cool breeze off the sea.  The tide, which was pretty high when I
arrived, crept slowly down the sands, but save for the cruising and
running of gulls and little piping shore-birds, that was all the
movement on the beach.  Not a soul appeared below me all that time.
The calm shining sea remained absolutely empty except once for quarter
of an hour or so when a destroyer was creeping past far out.  To the
seaward there was not a hint of danger or the least cause for
apprehension.

On the road behind me I did hear sounds several times, which I confess
disturbed my equanimity much more than I meant to let them.  Once a
motor-car buzzed past, and not to hold my breath as the sound swelled
so rapidly and formidably was more than I could achieve.  The jogging
of a horse and trap twice set me wondering, despite myself, whether
there were a couple of men with carbines aboard.  But the slow
prolonged rattling and creaking of carts was perhaps the sound that
worried me most.  They took such an interminable time to pass!  I
conceived a very violent distaste for carts.

I do take some credit to myself that not once did I yield to the
temptation to peep over my wall and see who it was that passed along
the road.  I did not even turn and try to peer through the chinks in
the stones, but simply sat like a limpet till the sounds had died
completely away.  The only precaution I took was to extinguish my
cigarette if I chanced at the moment to be smoking.

In the course of my long bask in that sun bath I ate most of my
remaining sandwiches and a cake or two of chocolate, but kept the
remainder against emergencies.  At last as the sun wore round,
gradually descending till it shone right into my eyes, and I realised
that the afternoon was getting far through, hope began to rise higher
and higher.  It actually seemed as if I were going to be allowed to
remain within twenty yards of a highroad till night fell.  "And then
let them look for me!" I thought.

I don't think my access of optimism caused me to make any incautious
movement.  I know I was not smoking, in fact it must simply have been
luck determined to show me that I was not her only favourite.  Anyhow,
when I first heard a footstep it was on the grass within five yards of
me, and the next moment a man came round the corner of the wall and
stopped dead short at the sight of me.

He was a countryman, a small farmer or hired man, I should judge--a
broad-faced, red-bearded, wide-shouldered, pleasant-looking fellow, and
he must have been walking for some distance on the grass by the
roadside, though what made him step the few yards out of his way to
look round the corner of the wall, I have never discovered to this day.
Possibly he meant to descend to the beach at that point.  Anyhow there
he was, and as we looked into one another's eyes for a moment in
silence I could tell as surely as if he had said the words that he had
heard the story of the suspicious motor-cyclist.



IV.

THE NAILS.

"A fine afternoon," I remarked, without rising, and I hope without
showing any sign of emotion other than pleasure at making an
acquaintance.

"Aye," said he, briefly and warily.

This discouraging manner was very ominous, for the man was as
good-natured and agreeable-looking a fellow as I ever met.

"The weather looks like keeping up," I said.

He continued to look at me steadily, and made no answer at all this
time.  Then he turned his back to me very deliberately, lifted his felt
hat, and waved it two or three times round his head, evidently to some
one in the distance.  I saw instantly that mischief was afoot and time
precious, yet the fellow was evidently determined and stout-hearted,
besides being physically very powerful, and it would never do to rouse
his suspicions to the pitch of grappling with me.  Of course I might
use my revolver, but I had no wish to add a civilian's death to the
other charge I might have to face before that sun had set.  Suddenly
luck served me well again by putting into my head a well-known English
cant phrase.

"Are you often taken like that?" I inquired with a smile.

He turned round again and stared blankly.  I imitated the movement of
waving a hat, and laughed.

"Or is it a family custom?" I asked.

He was utterly taken aback, and looked rather foolish.  I sat still and
continued to smile at him.  And then he broke into a smile himself.

"I was just waving on a friend," he explained, and I could detect a
note of apology in his voice.  For the moment he was completely
hoodwinked.  How long it would last Heaven knew, but I clearly could
not afford to imitate Mr Asquith, and "wait and see."

"Oh," I said with a laugh, "I see!"

And then I glanced at my wristlet watch, and sprang to my feet with an
exclamation.

"By Jove, I'll be late!" I said, and picking up my cycle wheeled it
briskly to the road, remarking genially as I went, "the days are not so
long as they were!"

I never saw a man more obviously divided in mind.  Was I the suspicious
person he fancied at first?  Or was I an honest and peaceable
gentleman?  Meanwhile I had cast one brief but sufficient glance along
the road.  Just at the foot of the steep hill down which I had come in
the morning a man was mounting a motor-cycle.  Beside him stood one or
two others--country folk, so far as I could judge at the distance, and
piecing things together, it seemed plain that my friend had lately been
one of the party, and that the man they had been gossiping with was a
motor-cyclist in search of me, who had actually paused to make
inquiries within little over a quarter of a mile from where I sat.
Quite possibly he had been there for some time, and almost certainly he
would have ridden past without suspecting my presence if it had not
been for the diabolical mishap of this chance encounter.

I had planted my cycle on the road, and was ready to mount before my
friend had made up his mind what to do.  Even then his procedure
luckily lacked decision.

"Beg pardon, sir--!" he began, making a step towards me.

"Good evening!" I shouted, and the next instant the engine had started,
and I was in my saddle.

Even then my pursuer had got up so much speed that he must surely have
caught me had he not stopped to make inquiry of my late acquaintance.
I was rounding a corner at the moment, and so was able to glance over
my shoulder and see what was happening.  The cyclist was then in the
act of remounting, and I noted that he was in very dark clothes.  It
might or might not have been a uniform, but I fancied it was.  Anyhow,
I felt peculiarly little enthusiasm for making his acquaintance.

On I sped, working rapidly up to forty miles an hour, and quite
careless now of any little sensation I might cause.  I had sensations
myself, and did not grudge them to other people.  The road quickly left
the coast and turned directly inland, and presently it began to wind
along the edge of a long reedy stretch of water, with a steep bank
above it on the other side.  The windings gave me several chances of
catching a glimpse of my pursuer, and I saw that I was gaining nothing;
in fact, if anything he was overhauling me.

"I'll try them!" I said to myself.

"Them" were nails.  Wiedermann had done me no more than justice in
assuming I had come well provided against possible contingencies.  Each
of my side-pockets had a little packet of large-headed, sharp-pointed
nails.  I had several times thrown them experimentally on the floor of
my cabin, and found that a gratifying number lay point upwards.  I
devoutly prayed they would behave as reasonably now.

This stretch of road was ideal for their use--narrow, and with not a
house to give succour or a spectator to witness such a very suspicious
performance, I threw a handful behind me, and at the next turn of the
road glanced round to see results.  The man was still going strong.  I
threw another handful and then a third, but after that the road ran
straight for a space, and it was only when it bent to the right round
the head of the loch that I was able to see him again.  He had stopped
far back, and was examining his tyres.

The shadows by this time were growing long, but there were still some
hours before darkness would really shelter me, and in the meantime what
was I to do with myself, and where to turn?  Judging from the long time
that had elapsed between my discovery in the early morning and the
appearance of this cyclist at the very place which I had thought would
be the last where they would seek me, the rest of the island had
probably been searched and the hue and cry had died down by this time.
So for some time I ought to be fairly safe anywhere: until, in fact, my
pursuer had reached a telegraph office, and other scouts had then been
collected and sent out.  And if my man was an average human being, he
would certainly waste a lot of precious time in trying to pump up his
tyres or mend them before giving it up as a bad job and walking to a
telegraph office.

That, in fact, was what he did, for in this open country I was able a
few minutes later to see him in the far distance still stopping by that
loch shore.  But though I believe in trusting to chance, I like to give
myself as many chances as possible.  I knew where all the telegraph
offices were, and one was a little nearer him than I quite liked.  So
half a mile farther on, at a quiet spot on a hill, I jumped off and
swarmed up one of the telegraph-posts by the roadside, and then I took
out of my pocket another happy inspiration.  When I came down again,
there was a gap in the wire.

There was now quite a good chance that I might retain my freedom till
night fell, and if I could hold out so long as that--well, we should
see what happened then!  But what was to be done in the meantime?  A
strong temptation assailed me, and I yielded to it.  I should get as
near to my night's rendezvous as possible, and try to find some
secluded spot there.  It was not perhaps the very wisest thing to risk
being seen there by daylight and bring suspicion on the neighbourhood
where I meant to spend two or three days; but you will presently see
why I was so strongly tempted.  So great, in fact, was the temptation
that till I got there I hardly thought of the risk.

I rode for a little longer through the same kind of undulating,
loch-strewn inland country, and then I came again close to the sea.
But it was not the open sea this time.  It was a fairly wide sound that
led from the ocean into a very important place, and immediately I began
to see things.  What things they were precisely I may not say, but they
had to do with warfare, with making this sound about as easy for a
hostile ship to get through, whether above the water or below, as a
pane of glass is for a bluebottle.  As I rode very leisurely, with my
head half turned round all the while, I felt that my time was not
wasted if I escaped safely, having seen simply what I now noted.  For
my eye could put interpretations on features that would convey nothing
to the ordinary traveller.

Gradually up and up a long gentle incline I rode, with the sound
falling below me and a mass of high dark hills rising beyond it.
Behind me the sun was now low, and my shadow stretched long on the
empty road ahead.  For it was singularly empty, and the country-side
was utterly peaceful; only at sea was there life--with death very close
beside it.  And now and then there rose at intervals a succession of
dull, heavy sounds that made the earth quiver.  I knew what they meant!

Then came a dip, and then a very steep long hill through moorland
country.  And then quite suddenly and abruptly I came to the top.  It
was a mere knife-edge, with the road instantly beginning to descend
steeply on the other side, but I did not descend with the road.  I
jumped off and stared with bated breath.

Ahead of me and far below, a wide island-encircled sheet of water lay
placid and smiling in the late afternoon sunshine.  Strung along one
side of it were lines of grey ships, with a little smoke rising from
most of their funnels, but lying quite still and silent--as still and
silent as the farms and fields on shore.  Those distant patches of
grey, with the thin drifts of smoke and the masts encrusted with small
grey blobs rising out of their midst, those were the cause of all my
country's troubles.  But for them peace would have long since been
dictated and a mightier German Empire would be towering above all other
States in the world.  How I hated--and yet (being a sailor myself) how
I respected them!

One solitary monster of this Armada was slowly moving across the
laud-locked basin.  Parallel to her and far away moved a tiny vessel
with a small square thing following her at an even distance, and the
sun shining on this showed its colour red.  Suddenly out of the monster
shot a series of long bright flashes.  Nothing else happened for
several seconds, and then almost simultaneously "Boom! boom! boom!" hit
my ear, and a group of tall white fountains sprang up around the
distant red target.  The Grand Fleet of England was preparing for "The
Day"!

I knew the big vessel at a glance; I knew her, at least, as one of a
certain four, and for some moments I watched her gunnery practice, too
fascinated to stir.  I noted how the fall of her shells was spread--in
fact I noted several things; and then it occurred to me abruptly that I
stood a remarkably good chance of having a wall at my back and a
handkerchief over my eyes if I lingered in this open road much longer.
And the plea that I was enjoying the excellent gun-practice made by
H.M.S. _Blank_ would scarcely be accepted as an extenuating
circumstance!

I glanced quickly round, and then I realised how wonderfully luck was
standing by me.  At the summit of that hill there were naturally no
houses, and as the descending road on either side made a sharp twist
almost immediately, I stood quite invisible on my outlook tower.  The
road, moreover, ran through a kind of neck, with heather rising on
either side; and in a moment I had hauled my cycle up the bank on the
landward side, and was out of sight over the edge, even should any
traveller appear.

After a few minutes' laborious dragging of my cycle I found myself in a
small depression in the heather, where, by lying down, I could remain
quite out of sight unless some one walked right into me--and it seemed
improbable that any one should take such a promenade with the good road
so close at hand.  By raising myself on my knees I could command the
same engrossing view I had seen from the road, only I now also saw
something of the country that sloped down to the sea; and with a thrill
of exultation I realised that this prospect actually included our
rendezvous.



V.

WAITING.

What I saw when I cautiously peered over the rim of that little hollow
was (beginning at the top) a vast expanse of pale-blue sky, with fleecy
clouds down near the horizon already tinged with pink reflections from
the sunset far off behind my back.  Then came a shining glimpse of the
North Sea; then a rim of green islands, rising on the right to high
heather hills; then the land-locked waters and the grey ships now
getting blurred and less distinct; then some portions of the green land
that sloped up to where I lay; and among these fields, and not far away
from me, the steep roof and gable-top of a grey, old-fashioned house.
It was the parish manse, the pacific abode of the professional exponent
and exemplar of peace--the parish minister; and yet, curiously enough,
it was that house which my eyes devoured.

The single ship had now ceased firing and anchored with her consorts,
the fleet had grown too indistinct to note anything of its composition,
and there was nothing to distract my attention from the house.  I
looked at it hard and long and studied the lie of the ground between it
and me, and then I lay down on a couch of soft heather and began to
think.

So far as I could see I had done nothing yet to draw suspicion to this
particular spot, for no one at all seemed to have seen me, but it was
manifest that there would be a hard and close hunt for the mysterious
motor-cyclist on the morrow.  I began to half regret that I had cut
that telegraph wire and advertised myself so patently for what I was.
Now it was quite obvious that for some days to come motor-cycling would
be an unhealthy pastime in these islands.  Even at night how many ears
would be listening for my "phut-phut-phut," and how many eyes would be
scanning the dark roads?  A few judiciously placed and very simple
barricades--a mere bar on two uprights, with a sentry beside each--and
what chance would I have of getting back to that distant bay,
especially as I had just been seen so near it?

"However," I said to myself, "that is looking too far ahead.  It was
not my fault I brought this hornet's nest about my ears.  Just bad luck
and a clumsy sailor!"

Just then I heard something approaching on the road below me, and in a
minute or two it became unmistakably the sound of a horse and trap.  At
one place I could catch a glimpse of this road between the hummocks of
heather, and I raised myself again and looked out.  In a moment the
horse and trap appeared and I got a sensation I shall not soon forget.
Not that there seemed to the casual passer-by anything in the least
sensational about this equipage.  He would merely have noticed that it
contained, besides the driver, a few articles of luggage and a
gentleman in a flat-looking felt hat and an overcoat--both of them
black.  This gentleman was sitting with his back to me (he was in a
small waggonette), but I could scarcely doubt who it was.  But only
arriving to-night!

Curiosity and anxiety so devoured me that I ran a little risk.  Getting
out of my hollow, I crawled forward on my hands and knees till I could
catch a glimpse of the side road leading to that house; and there I lay
flat on my face and watched.

Down the steep hill the horse proceeded at a walk, and what between my
impatience to make sure, and my consciousness of my own rashness in
quitting even for a moment my sheltered hollow, I passed a few very
uncomfortable minutes.  The light by this time was failing fast, but it
was quite clear enough to see (or be seen), and at last I caught one
more glimpse of that horse and trap--turning off the road just where I
expected.  And then I was crawling back with more haste than dignity.

It was "him"!  And he had only arrived to-night.  If it had not been
for my accident, in what a nice dilemma I should have been landed!
Never did I bless any one more fervently than that awkward sailor who
had let my cycle slip, and as for the wave of salt water which wet it,
it seemed to have sprung from the age of miracles.

The trouble of my discovery and its possible consequences still
remained, but I thought little enough of that now, so thankful did I
feel for what had _not_ happened.  And then I stretched myself out
again on the heather, waiting with all the patience I could muster for
the falling of night.



PART II.

A FEW CHAPTERS BY THE EDITOR



I.

THE PLEASANT STRANGER.

It was in July of that same year that the Rev. Alexander Burnett was
abashed to find himself inadvertently conspicuous.  He had very
heartily permitted himself to be photographed in the centre of a small
group of lads from his parish who had heard their country's call and
were home in their khaki for a last leave-taking.  Moreover, the
excellence of the photograph and the undeniably close resemblance of
his own portrait to the reflection he surveyed each morning when
shaving, had decidedly pleased him.  But the appearance of this group,
first as an illustration in a local paper and then in one that enjoyed
a very wide circulation indeed, embarrassed him not a little.  For he
was a modest, publicity-avoiding man, and also he felt he ought to have
been in khaki too.

Not that Mr Burnett had anything really to reproach himself with, for
he was in the forties, some years above military age.  But he was a
widower without a family, who had already spent fifteen years in a
sparsely inhabited parish in the south-east of Scotland not very far
from the Border; and ever since he lost his wife had been uneasy in
mind and a little morbid, and anxious for change of scene and fresh
experiences.  He was to get them, and little though he dreamt it, that
group was their beginning.  Indeed, it would have taken as cunning a
brain to scent danger in the trifling incidents with which his strange
adventure began as it took to arrange them.  And Mr Burnett was not at
all cunning, being a simple, quiet man.  In appearance he was rather
tall, with a clean-shaven, thoughtful face, and hair beginning to turn
grey.

A few days later a newspaper arrived by post.  He had received several
already from well-meaning friends, each with that group in it, and he
sighed as he opened this one.  It was quite a different paper, however,
with no illustrations, but with a certain page indicated in blue
pencil, and a blue pencil mark in the margin of that page.  What his
attention was called to was simply the announcement that the Rev. Mr
Maxwell, minister of the parish of Myredale, had been appointed to
another charge, and that there was now a vacancy there.

Mr Burnett looked at the wrapper, but his name and address had been
typewritten and gave him no clue.  He wondered who had sent him the
paper, and then his thoughts naturally turned to the vacant parish.  He
knew that it lay in a certain group of northern islands, which we may
call here the Windy Isles, and he presumed that the stipend would not
be great.  Still, it was probably a better living than his own small
parish, and as for its remoteness, well, he liked quiet, out-of-the-way
places, and it would certainly be a complete change of scene.  He let
the matter lie in the back of his mind, and there it would very likely
have remained but for a curious circumstance on the following Sunday.

His little parish church was seldom visited by strangers, and when by
any chance one did appear, the minister was very quickly conscious of
the fact.  He always took stock of his congregation during the first
psalm, and on this Sabbath his experienced eye had noted a stranger
before the end of the opening verse.  A pleasant-looking gentleman in
spectacles he appeared to be, and of a most exemplary and devout habit
of mind.  In fact, he hardly once seemed to take his spectacled gaze
off the minister's face during the whole service; and Mr Burnett
believed in giving his congregation good measure.

It was a fine day, and when service was over the minister walked back
to his manse at a very leisurely pace, enjoying the sunshine after a
week of showery weather.  The road he followed crossed the river, and
as he approached the bridge he saw the same stranger leaning over the
parapet, smoking a cigar, and gazing at the brown stream.  Near him at
the side of the road was drawn up a large dark-green touring car, which
apparently the gentleman had driven himself, for there was no sign of a
chauffeur.

"Good day, sir!" said the stranger affably, as the minister came up to
him.  "Lovely weather!"

Mr Burnett, nothing loath to hear a fresh voice, stopped and smiled and
agreed that the day was fine.  He saw now that the stranger was a
middle-sized man with a full fair moustache, jovial eyes behind his
gold-rimmed spectacles, and a rosy healthy colour; while his manner was
friendliness itself.  The minister felt pleasantly impressed with him
at once.

"Any trout in this stream?" inquired the stranger.

Mr Burnett answered that it was famed as a fishing river, at which the
stranger seemed vastly interested and pleased, and put several
questions regarding the baskets that were caught.  Then he grew a
little more serious and said--

"I hope you will pardon me, sir, for thanking you for a very excellent
sermon.  As I happened to be motoring past just as church was going in
I thought I'd look in too.  But I assure you I had no suspicion I
should hear so good a discourse.  I appreciated it highly."

Though a modest man, Mr Burnett granted the stranger's pardon very
readily.  Indeed, he became more favourably impressed with him than
ever.

"I am very pleased to hear you say so," he replied, "for in an
out-of-the-way place like this one is apt to get very rusty."

"I don't agree with you at all, sir," said the stranger energetically,
"if you'll pardon my saying so.  In my experience--which is pretty
wide, I may add--the best thinking is done in out-of-the-way places.  I
don't say the showiest, mind you, but the _best_!"

Again the minister pardoned him without difficulty.

"Of course, one needs a change now and then, I admit," continued the
stranger.  "But, my dear sir, whatever you do, don't go and bury
yourself in a crowd!"

This struck Mr Burnett as a novel and very interesting way of putting
the matter.  He forgot all about the dinner awaiting him at the manse,
and when the stranger offered him a very promising-looking cigar, he
accepted it with pleasure, and leaned over the parapet beside him.
There, with his eyes on the running water, he listened and talked for
some time.

The stranger began to talk about the various charming out-of-the-way
places in Scotland.  It seemed he was a perfervid admirer of everything
Scottish, and had motored or tramped all over the country from Berwick
to the Pentland Firth.  In fact, he had even crossed the waters, for he
presently burst forth into a eulogy of the Windy Islands.

"The most delightful spot, sir, I have ever visited!" he said
enthusiastically.  "There is a peacefulness and charm, and at the same
time something stimulating in the air I simply can't describe.  In body
and mind I felt a new man after a week there!"

The minister was so clearly struck by this, and his interest so roused,
that the stranger pursued the topic and added a number of enticing
details.

"By the way," he exclaimed presently, "do you happen to know a
fellow-clergyman there called Maxwell?  His parish is--let me see--Ah,
Myredale, that's the name."

This struck Mr Burnett as quite extraordinary.

"I don't know him personally," he began.

"A very sensible fellow," continued the stranger impetuously.  "He told
me his parish was as like heaven as anything on this mortal earth!"

"He has just left it," said Mr Burnett.

The stranger seemed surprised and interested.

"What a chance for some one!" he exclaimed.

Mr Burnett gazed thoughtfully through the smoke of his cigar into the
brown water of the river below him.

"I have had thoughts of making a change myself," he said slowly.  "But
of course they might not select me even if I applied for Myredale."

"In the Scottish Church the custom is to go to the vacant parish to
preach a trial sermon, isn't it?" inquired the stranger.

The minister nodded.  "A system I disapprove of, I may say," said he.

"I quite agree with you," said the stranger sympathetically.  "Still,
so long as that is the system, why not try your luck?  Mind you, I talk
as one who knows the place, and knows Mr Maxwell and his opinion of it.
You'll have an enviable visit, whatever happens."

"It is a very long way," said Mr Burnett.

"Don't they pay your expenses!"

"Yes," admitted the minister.  "But then I understand that those
islands are very difficult for a stranger to enter at present.  The
naval authorities are extremely strict."

The stranger laughed jovially.

"My dear sir," he cried, "can you imagine even the British Navy
standing between a Scotch congregation and its sermon!  You are the one
kind of stranger who will be admitted.  All you have to do is to get a
passport--and there you are!"

"Are they difficult to get?"

The stranger laughed again.

"I know nothing about that kind of thing," said he.  "I'm a Lancashire
lad, and the buzz of machinery is my game; but I can safely say this:
that _you_ will have no difficulty in getting a passport."

Mr Burnett again gazed at the water in silence.

Then he looked up and said with a serious face--

"I must really tell you, sir, of a very remarkable coincidence.  Only a
few days ago some unknown friend sent me a copy of a newspaper with a
notice of this very vacancy marked in it!"

The Lancashire lad looked almost thunder-struck by this extraordinary
disclosure.

"Well, I'm hanged!" he cried--adding hurriedly, "if you'll forgive my
strong language, sir."

"It seems to me to be providential," said Mr Burnett in a low and very
serious voice.

With equal solemnity the stranger declared that though not an unusually
good man himself, this solution had already struck him forcibly.

At this point the minister became conscious of the distant ringing of a
bell, and recognised with a start the strident note of his own dinner
bell swung with a vigorous arm somewhere in the road ahead.  He shook
hands cordially with the stranger, thanked him for the very interesting
talk he had enjoyed, and hurried off towards his over-cooked roast.

The stranger remained for a few moments still leaning against the
parapet.  His jovial face had been wreathed in smiles throughout the
whole conversation; he still smiled now, but with rather a different
expression.



II.

THE CHAUFFEUR.

Mr Burnett was somewhat slow in coming to decisions, but once he had
taken an idea to do a thing he generally carried it out.  In the course
of a week or ten days he had presented himself as a candidate for the
vacant church of Myredale, and made arrangements for appearing in the
pulpit there on a certain Sunday in August.  He was to arrive in the
islands on the Thursday, spend the week-end in the empty manse, preach
on Sunday, and return on Monday or Tuesday.  His old friend Mr Drummond
in Edinburgh, hearing of the plan, invited him to break his journey at
his house, arriving on Tuesday afternoon, and going on by the North
train on Wednesday night.  Accordingly, he arranged to have a trap at
the manse on Tuesday afternoon, drive to Berwick and catch the Scotch
express, getting into Edinburgh at 6.15.

He was a reticent man, and in any case had few neighbours to gossip
with, so that as far as he himself knew, the Drummonds alone had been
informed of all these details.  But he had in the manse a very valuable
domestic, who added to her more ordinary virtues a passion for
conversation.

On the Saturday afternoon before he was due to start, he was returning
from a walk, when he caught a glimpse of a man's figure disappearing
into a small pine wood at the back of his house, and when his
invaluable Mary brought him in his tea, he inquired who her visitor had
been.

"Oh, sic a nice young felly!" said Mary enthusiastically.  "He's been a
soger, wounded at Mons he was, and walking to Berwick to look for a
job."

Though simple, the minister was not without some sad experience of
human nature, particularly the nature of wounded heroes, tramping the
country for jobs.

"I hope you didn't give him any money," said he.

"He never askit for money!" cried Mary.  "Oh, he was not that kind at
a'!  A maist civil young chap he was, and maist interested to hear
where you were gaun, and sic like."

The minister shook his head.

"You told him when I was leaving, and all about it, I suppose?"

"There was nae secret, was there?" demanded Mary.

Mr Burnett looked at her seriously.

"As like as not," said he; "he just wished to know when the man of the
house would be away.  Mind and keep the doors locked, Mary, and if he
comes back, don't let him into the kitchen whatever cock-and-bull story
he tells."

He knew that Mary was a sensible enough woman, and having given her
this warning, he forgot the whole incident--till later.

Tuesday was fine and warm, a perfect day on which to start a journey,
and about mid-day Mr Burnett was packing a couple of bags with a sense
of pleasant anticipation, when a telegram arrived.  This was exactly
how it ran:--


"My friend Taylor motoring to Edinburgh to-day.  Will pick you and
luggage up at Manse about six, and bring you to my house.  Don't
trouble reply, assume this suits, shall be out till late.  DRUMMOND."


"There's no answer," said Mr Burnett with a smile.

He was delighted with this change in his programme, and at once
countermanded his trap, and ordered Mary to set about making scones and
a currant cake for tea.

"This Mr Taylor will surely be wanting his tea before he starts," said
he, "though it's likely he won't want to waste too much time over it,
or it will be dark long before we get to Edinburgh.  So have everything
ready, Mary, but just the infusing of the tea."

Then with an easy mind, feeling that there was no hurry now, he sat
down to his early dinner.  As he dined he studied the telegram more
carefully, and it was then that one or two slight peculiarities struck
him.  They seemed to him very trifling, but they set him wondering and
smiling a little to himself.

He knew most of the Drummonds' friends, and yet never before had he
heard of an affluent motor-driving Mr Taylor among them.  Still, there
was nothing surprising about that, for one may make a new friend any
day, and one's old friends never hear of him for long enough.

The really unusual features about this telegram were its length and
clearness and the elaborate injunctions against troubling to answer it.

Robert Drummond was an excellent and Christian man, but he had never
been remarkable for profuse expenditure.  In fact, he guarded his
bawbees very carefully indeed, and among other judicious precautions he
never sent telegrams if he could help it, and when fate forced his
hand, kept very rigorously within the twelve-word limit.  His telegrams
in consequence were celebrated more for their conciseness than their
clarity.  Yet here he was sending a telegram thirty-four words long,
apart from the address and signature, and spending halfpenny after
halfpenny with reckless profusion to make every detail explicit!

Particularly curious were the three clauses all devoted to saving Mr
Burnett the trouble of replying.  Never before had Mr Drummond shown
such extraordinary consideration for a friend's purse, and it is a
discouraging feature of human nature that even the worthy Mr Burnett
felt more puzzled than touched by his generous thoughtfulness.

"Robert Drummond never wrote out that wire himself," he concluded.  "He
must just have told some one what he wanted to say, and they must have
written it themselves.  Well, we'll hope they paid for it too, or
Robert will be terrible annoyed."

The afternoon wore on, and as six o'clock drew near, the minister began
to look out for Mr Taylor and his car.  But six o'clock passed, and
quarter-past six, and still there was no sign of him.  The minister
began to grow a little worried lest they should have to do most of the
journey in the dark, for he was an inexperienced motorist, and such a
long drive by night seemed to him a formidable and risky undertaking.

At last at half-past six the thrum of a car was heard, and a few
minutes later a long, raking, dark-green touring car dashed up to the
door of the modest manse.  The minister hurried out to welcome his
guest, and then stopped dead short in sheer astonishment.  Mr Taylor
was none other than the Lancashire lad.

On his part, Mr Taylor seemed almost equally surprised.

"Well, I'm blowed!" he cried jovially.  "If this isn't the most
extraordinary coincidence!  When I got Robert Drummond's note, and
noticed the part of the country you lived in, I wondered if you could
possibly be the same minister I'd met; but it really seemed too good to
be true!  Delighted to meet you again!"

He laughed loud and cheerfully, and wrung the minister's hand like an
old friend.  Mr Burnett, though less demonstrative, felt heartily
pleased, and led his guest cordially into the manse parlour.

"You'll have some tea before you start, I hope?" he inquired.

"Ra-ther!" cried Mr Taylor.  "I've a Lancashire appetite for tea!  Ha,
ha, ha!"

"Well, I'll have it in at once," said the minister, ringing the bell,
"for I suppose we ought not to postpone our start too long."

"No hurry at all, my dear fellow," said Mr Taylor, throwing himself
into the easiest chair the minister possessed.  "I mean to have a jolly
good tuck in before I start!"

At that moment Mr Burnett remembered that this time he had seen a
chauffeur in the car.  He went hospitably out of the room and turned
towards the front door.  But hardly had he turned in that direction
when he heard Mr Taylor call out--

"Hallo!  Where are you going?"

And the next moment he was after the minister and had him by the arm
just as they reached the open front door.  Mr Burnett ever afterwards
remembered the curious impression produced on him by the note in Mr
Taylor's voice, and that hurried grip of the arm.  Suspicion, alarm, a
note of anger, all seemed to be blended.

"I--I was only going to ask your driver to come and have a cup of tea
in the kitchen," stammered the embarrassed minister.

"My dear sir, he doesn't want any; I've asked him already!" said Mr
Taylor.  "I assure you honestly I have!"

Mr Burnett suffered himself to be led back wondering greatly.  He had
caught a glimpse of the chauffeur, a clean-shaven, well-turned-out man,
sitting back in his seat with his cap far over his eyes, and even in
that hurried glance at part of his face he had been struck with
something curiously familiar about the man; though whether he had seen
him before, or, if not, who he reminded him of, he was quite unable to
say.  And then there was Mr Taylor's extraordinary change of manner the
very moment he started to see the chauffeur.  He could make nothing of
it at all, but for some little time afterwards he had a vague sense of
disquiet.

Mr Taylor, on his part, had recovered his cheerfulness as quickly as he
had lost it.

"Forgive me, my dear Mr Burnett," he said earnestly, yet always with
the rich jolly note in his voice.  "I must have seemed a perfect
maniac.  The truth is, between ourselves, I had a terrible suspicion
you were going to offer my good James whisky!"

"Oh," said the minister.  "Is he then--er--an abstainer?"

Mr Taylor laughed pleasantly.

"I wish he were!  A wee drappie is his one failing; ha, ha!  I never
allow my chauffeur to touch a drop while I'm on the road, Mr
Burnett--never, sir!"

Mr Burnett was slow to suspect ill of any one, but he was just as slow
in getting rid of a suspicion.  With all his simplicity, he could not
but think that Mr Taylor jumped extraordinarily quickly to conclusions
and got excited on smaller provocation than any one he had ever met.
Over his first cup of tea he sat very silent.

In the meantime the sociable Mary had been suffering from a sense of
disappointment.  Surely the beautiful liveried figure in the car would
require his tea and eggs like his master?  For a little she sat
awaiting his arrival in the kitchen, with her cap neatly arranged, and
an expectant smile.  But gradually disappointment deepened.  She
considered the matter judicially.  Clearly, she decided, Mr Burnett had
forgotten the tradition of hospitality associated with that and every
other manse.  And then she decided that her own duty was plain.

She went out of the back door and round the house.  There stood the
car, with the resplendent figure leaning back in his seat, his cap
still over his eyes, and his face now resting on his hand, so that she
could barely see more than the tip of his nose.  He heard nothing of
her approach till she was fairly at his side, and in her high and
penetrating voice cried--

"Will ye not be for a cup of tea and an egg to it, eh?"

The chauffeur started, and Mary started too.  She had seen his face for
an instant, though he covered it quickly, but apparently quite
naturally, with his hand.

"No, thanks," he said brusquely, and turned away his eyes.

Mary went back to the kitchen divided between annoyance at the rebuff
and wonder.  The liveried figure might have been the twin-brother of
the minister.



III.

ON THE CLIFF.

Gradually Mr Burnett recovered his composure.  His guest was so genial
and friendly and appreciative of the scones and the currant cake that
he began to upbraid himself for churlishness in allowing anything like
a suspicion of this pleasant gentleman to linger in his mind.  There
remained a persistent little shadow which he could not quite drive
away, but he conscientiously tried his best.  As for Mr Taylor, there
never was a jollier and yet a more thoughtful companion.  He seemed to
think of every mortal thing that the minister could possibly need for
his journey.

"Got your passport?" he inquired.

"Yes," said the minister.  "I am carrying it in my breast-pocket.  It
ought to be safe there."

"The safest place possible!" said Mr Taylor cordially.  "It's all in
order, I presume, eh?"

Mr Burnett took the passport out of his pocket and showed it to him.
His guest closely examined the minister's photograph which was
attached, went through all the particulars carefully, and pronounced
everything in order, as far as an ignorant outsider like himself could
judge.

"Of course," he said, "I'm a business man, Mr Burnett, and I can tell
when a thing looks businesslike, though I know no more about what the
authorities require and why they ask for all these particulars than you
do.  It's all red tape, I suppose."

As a further precaution he recommended his host to slip a few letters
and a receipted bill or two into his pocket-book, so that he would have
a ready means of establishing his identity if any difficulty arose.  Mr
Burnett was somewhat surprised, but accepted his guest's word for it,
as a shrewd Lancashire lad, that these little tips were well worth
taking.

By this time the evening was falling, and at length Mr Taylor declared
himself ready for the road.  He had drunk four cups of tea, and hurried
over none of them.  For a moment Mr Burnett half wondered if he had any
reason for delaying their start, but immediately reproached himself for
harbouring such a thought.  Indeed, why should he think so?  There
seemed nothing whatever to be gained by delay, with the dusk falling so
fast and a long road ahead.

The minister's rug and umbrella and two leather bags were put into the
car, he and Mr Taylor got aboard, and off they went at last.  Mr
Burnett had another glance at the chauffeur, and again was haunted by
an odd sense of familiarity; but once they had started, the view of his
back in the gathering dusk suggested nothing more explicit.

Presently they passed a corner, and the minister looked round uneasily.

"What road are you taking?" he asked.

"We're going to join the coast road from Berwick," said Mr Taylor.

"Isn't that rather roundabout?"

Mr Taylor laughed jovially.

"My good James has his own ideas," said he.  "As a matter of fact, I
fancy he knows the coast road and isn't sure of the other.  However, we
needn't worry about that.  With a car like this the difference in time
will be a flea-bite!"

He had provided the minister with another excellent cigar, and smoking
in comfort behind a glass wind-screen, with the dim country slipping by
and the first pale star faintly shining overhead, the pair fell into
easy discourse.  Mr Taylor was a remarkably sympathetic talker, the
minister found.  He kept the conversation entirely on his companion's
affairs, putting innumerable questions as to his habits and way of
life, and indeed his whole history, and exhibiting a flattering
interest in his answers.  Mr Burnett said to himself at last, with a
smile, that this inquiring gentleman would soon know as much about him
as he knew himself.

Once or twice the minister wondered how fast they were really going.
They did not seem to him to be achieving any very extraordinary speed,
but possibly that was only because the big car ran so easily.  In fact,
when he once questioned his companion, Mr Taylor assured him that
actually was the explanation.  It was thus pretty dark when they struck
the coast road, and it grew ever darker as they ran northward through a
bare, treeless country, with the cliff edge never far away and the
North Sea glimmering beyond.

They had reached an absolutely lonely stretch of road that hugged the
shore closely when the car suddenly stopped.

"Hallo!" exclaimed Mr Taylor, "what's up?"

The chauffeur half-turned round and said in a low voice--

"Did you see that light, sir?"

"Which light?"

The chauffeur pointed to the dark stretch of turf between them and the
edge of the cliffs.

"Just there, sir.  I saw it flash for a second.  I got a glimpse of
some one moving too, sir."

Mr Taylor became intensely excited.

"A spy signalling!" he exclaimed.

"Looks like it, sir," said the chauffeur.

Mr Taylor turned to the minister with an eager, resolute air.

"Our duty's clear, Mr Burnett," said he.  "As loyal subjects of King
George--God bless him!--we've got to have a look into this!"

With that he jumped out and stood by the open door, evidently expecting
the minister to follow.  For a moment Mr Burnett hesitated.  A vague
sense that all was not well suddenly affected him.  "Do not go!"
something seemed to say to him.  And yet as a man and a loyal subject
how could he possibly decline to assist in an effort to foil the King's
enemies?  Reluctantly he descended from the car, and once he was on the
road, Mr Taylor gave him no time for further debate.

"Come on!" he whispered eagerly; and then turning to the chauffeur,
"come along too, James!"

Close by there was a gate in the fence, and they all three went through
this and quietly crossed the short stretch of grass between the road
and the cliffs, Mr Taylor and the minister walking in front and the
chauffeur following close at their heels.  Now that the car was silent,
they could hear the soft lapping of the water at the cliff foot, but
that and the fall of their feet on the short crisp turf were the only
sounds.

Mr Burnett peered hard into the darkness, but he could see absolutely
nothing.  All at once he realised that they were getting very close to
the brink, and that if there were any one in front they would certainly
be silhouetted against the sky.  There could not possibly be any use in
going further; why then did they continue to advance?  At that a clear
and terrifying instinct of danger seized him.  He turned round sharply,
and uttered one loud ringing cry.

He was looking straight into the chauffeur's face, and it seemed as
though he were looking into his own, distorted by murderous intention.
Above it the man's hand was already raised.  It descended, and the
minister fell on the turf with a gasp.  He knew no more of that night's
adventure.



IV.

MR DRUMMOND'S VISITOR.

Upon a secluded road in the quiet suburb of Trinity stood the residence
of Mr Robert Drummond.  It was a neat unpretentious little villa graced
by a number of trees and a clinging Virginia creeper, and Mr Drummond
was a neat unpretentious little gentleman, graced by a number of
virtues, and a devoted Mrs Drummond.  From the upper windows of his
house you could catch a glimpse of the castled and templed hills of
Edinburgh on the one side, and the shining Forth and green coasts of
Fife on the other.  The Forth, in fact, was close at hand, and of late
Mr Drummond had been greatly entertained by observing many interesting
movements upon its waters.

He had looked forward to exhibiting and expounding these features to
his friend Mr Burnett, and felt considerably disappointed when upon the
morning of the day when the minister should have come, a telegram
arrived instead.  It ran--


"Unavoidably prevented from coming to stay with you.  Shall explain
later.  Many regrets.  Don't trouble reply.  Leaving home immediately.

"BURNETT."


As Mr Drummond studied this telegram he began to feel not only
disappointed but a trifle critical.

"Alec Burnett must have come into a fortune!" he said to himself.  "Six
words--the whole of threepence--wasted in telling me not to reply!  As
if I'd be spending my money on anything so foolish.  I never saw such
extravagance!"

On the following morning Mr Drummond was as usual up betimes.  He had
retired a year or two before from a responsible position in an
insurance office, but he still retained his active business habits, and
by eight o'clock every morning of the summer was out and busy in his
garden.  It still wanted ten minutes to eight, and he was just
buttoning up his waistcoat when he heard the front-door bell ring.  A
minute or two later the maid announced that Mr Topham was desirous of
seeing Mr Drummond immediately.

"Mr Topham?" he asked.

"He's a Navy Officer, sir," said the maid.

Vaguely perturbed, Mr Drummond hurried downstairs, and found in his
study a purposeful-looking young man, with the two zigzag stripes on
his sleeve of a lieutenant in the Royal Naval Reserve.

"Mr Drummond?" he inquired.

"The same," said Mr Drummond, firmly yet cautiously.

"You expected a visit from a Mr Burnett yesterday, I believe?"

"I had been expecting him till I got his wire."

"His wire!" exclaimed Lieutenant Topham.  "Did he telegraph to you?"

"Yes: he said he couldn't come."

"May I see that telegram?"

Caution had always been Mr Drummond's most valuable asset.

"Is it important?" he inquired.

"Extremely," said the lieutenant a trifle brusquely.

Mr Drummond went to his desk and handed him the telegram.  He could see
Topham's eyebrows rise as he read it.

"Thank you," he said when he had finished.  "May I keep it?"

Without waiting for permission, he put it in his pocket, and with a
grave air said--

"I am afraid I have rather serious news to give you about Mr Burnett."

"Dear me!" cried Mr Drummond.  "It's not mental trouble, I hope?  That
was a queer wire he sent me!"

"He didn't send you that wire," said Lieutenant Topham.

"What!" exclaimed Mr Drummond.  "Really--you don't say so?  Then who
did?"

"That's what we've got to find out."

The lieutenant glanced at the door, and added--

"I think we had better come a little farther away from the door."

They moved to the farther end of the room and sat down.

"Mr Burnett has been knocked on the head and then nearly drowned," said
the lieutenant.

Mr Drummond cried aloud in horror.  Topham made a warning gesture.

"This is not to be talked about at present," he said in a guarded
voice.  "The facts simply are that I'm in command of a patrol-boat, and
last night we were off the Berwickshire coast when we found your friend
in the water with a bad wound in his head and a piece of cord tied
round his feet."

"You mean some one had tried to murder him?" cried Mr Drummond.

"It looked rather like it," said Topham drily.

"And him a minister too!" gasped Mr Drummond.

"So we found later."

"But you'd surely tell that from his clothes!"

"He had no clothes when we found him."

"No clothes on!  Then do you mean----"

"We took him straight back to the base," continued the lieutenant
quickly, "and finally he came round and was able to talk a little.
Then we learned his name and heard of you, and Captain Blacklock asked
me to run up and let you know he was safe, and also get you to check
one or two of his statements.  Mr Burnett is naturally a little
light-headed at present."

Mr Drummond was a persistent gentleman.

"But do you mean you found him with no clothes on right out at sea?"

"No; close under the cliffs."

"Did you see him fall into the water?"

"We heard a cry, and picked him up shortly afterwards," said the
lieutenant, rather evasively, Mr Drummond thought.

"However, the main thing is that he will recover all right.  You can
rest assured he is being well looked after."

"I'd like to know more about this," said Mr Drummond with an air of
determination.

"So would we," said Topham drily, "and I'd just like to ask you one or
two questions, if I may.  Mr Burnett was on his way to the Windy
Islands, I believe?"

"He was.  He had got all his papers and everything ready to start
to-night."

"You feel sure of that?"

"He wrote and told me so himself."

Lieutenant Topham nodded in silence.  Then he inquired--

"Do you know a Mr Taylor?"

"Taylor?  I know a John Taylor----"

"Who comes from Lancashire and keeps a motor-car?"

"No," said Mr Drummond.  "I don't know that one.  Why?"

"Then you didn't send a long telegram to Mr Burnett yesterday telling
him that Mr Taylor would call for him in his motor-car and drive him to
your house?"

"Certainly not!" cried Mr Drummond indignantly.  "I never sent a long
telegram to any one in my life.  I tell you I don't know anything about
this Mr Taylor or his motor-car.  If Mr Burnett told you that, he's
light-headed indeed!"

"Those are merely the questions Captain Blacklock asked me to put,"
said the lieutenant soothingly.

"Is he the officer in command of the base?" demanded Mr Drummond a
little fiercely.

"No," said Topham briefly; "Commander Blacklock is an officer on
special service at present."

"Commander!" exclaimed Mr Drummond with a menacing sniff.  "But you
just called him Captain."

"Commanders get the courtesy title of Captain," explained the
lieutenant, rising as he spoke.  "Thank you very much, Mr Drummond.
There's only one thing more I'd like to say----"

"Ay, but there are several things I'd like to say!" said Mr Drummond
very firmly.  "I want to know what's the meaning of this outrage to my
friend.  What's your theory?"

Before the war Lieutenant Topham had been an officer in a passenger
liner, but he had already acquired in great perfection the real Navy
mask.

"It seems rather mysterious," he replied--in a most unsuitably light
and indifferent tone, Mr Drummond considered.

"But surely you have _some_ ideas!"

The Lieutenant shook his head.

"We'll probably get to the bottom of it sooner or later."

"A good deal later than sooner, I'm afraid," said Mr Drummond severely.
"You've informed the police, I presume."

"The affair is not in my hands, Mr Drummond."

"Then whose hands is it in?"

"I have not been consulted on that point."

Ever since the war broke out Mr Drummond's views concerning the Navy
had been in a state of painful flux.  Sometimes he felt a genuine pride
as a taxpayer in having provided himself with such an efficient and
heroic service; at other times he sadly suspected that his money had
been wasted, and used to urge upon all his acquaintance the strong
opinion that the Navy should really "do something"--and be quick about
it too!

Lieutenant Topham depressed him greatly.  There seemed such an
extraordinary lack of intelligent interest about the fellow.  How
differently Nelson would have replied!

"Well, there's one thing I absolutely insist upon getting at the bottom
of," he said resolutely.  "I am accused of sending a long telegram to
Mr Burnett about a Mr Taylor.  Now I want to know the meaning of that!"

Lieutenant Topham smiled, but his smile, instead of soothing, merely
provoked the indignant householder.

"Neither you nor Mr Burnett are accused of sending telegrams.  We only
know that you received them."

"Then who sent them, I'd like to know?"

"That, no doubt, will appear in time.  I must get back now, Mr
Drummond; but I must first ask you not to mention a word to any one of
this--in the meantime anyhow."

The householder looked considerably taken aback.  He had anticipated
making a very pleasant sensation among his friends.

"I--er--of course shall use great discretion----" he began.

Lieutenant Topham shook his head.

"I am directed to ask you to tell _nobody_."

"Of course Mrs Drummond----"

"Not even Mrs Drummond."

"But this is really very high-handed, sir!  Mr Burnett is a very old
friend of mine----"

The Lieutenant came a step nearer to him, and said very earnestly and
persuasively--

"You have an opportunity, Mr Drummond, of doing a service to your
country by keeping absolute silence.  We can trust you to do that for
England, surely?"

"For Great Britain," corrected Mr Drummond, who was a member of a
society for propagating bagpipe music and of another for commemorating
Bannockburn,--"well, yes, if you put it like that--Oh, certainly,
certainly.  Yes, you can trust me, Mr Topham.  But--er--what am I to
say to Mrs Drummond about your visit?"

"Say that I was sent to ask you to keep your lights obscured,"
suggested the lieutenant with a smile.

"Capital!" said the householder.  "I've warned her several times about
the pantry window.  That will kill two birds with one stone!"

"Good morning, sir.  Thank you very much," said the lieutenant.

Mr Drummond was left in a very divided state of mind regarding the
Navy's competence, Mr Burnett's sanity, and his own judgment.



V.

ON THE MAIL BOAT.

A procession came down the long slope at the head of the bay.  Each
vehicle but one rumbled behind a pair of leisurely horses.  That one, a
car with a passenger and his luggage, hooted from tail to head of the
procession, and vanished in the dust towards the pier.  The sea
stretched like a sheet of brilliant glass right out across the bay and
the firth beyond to the great blue island hills, calm as far as the eye
could search it; on the green treeless shores, with their dusty roads
and their dykes of flagstones set on edge, there was scarcely enough
breeze to stir the grasses.  "We shall have a fine crossing," said the
passengers in the coaches to one another.

They bent round the corner of the bay and passed the little row of
houses, pressed close beneath the high grassy bank, and rumbled on to
the pier.  The sentries and the naval guard eyed the passengers with
professional suspicion as they gathered in a cue to show their
passports, and then gradually straggled towards the mail boat.  But
there was one passenger who was particularly eyed; though if all the
glances toward her were prompted by suspicion, it was well concealed.
She was a girl of anything from twenty-two to twenty-five, lithe,
dressed to a miracle, dark-haired, and more than merely pretty.  Her
dark eyebrows nearly meeting, her bright and singularly intelligent
eyes, her firm mouth and resolute chin, the mixture of thoughtfulness
in her expression and decision in her movements, were not the usual
ingredients of prettiness.  Yet her features were so fine and her
complexion so clear, and there was so much charm as well as thought in
her expression, that the whole effect of her was delightful.
Undoubtedly she was beautiful.

She was clearly travelling alone, and evidently a stranger to those
parts.  No one on the pier or steamer touched a hat or greeted her, and
from her quick looks of interest it was plain that everything was fresh
to her.  The string of passengers was blocked for a moment on the
narrow deck, and just where she paused stood a tall man who had come
aboard a minute or two before.  He took his eyes discreetly off her
face, and they fell upon her bag.  There on the label he could plainly
read, "Miss Eileen Holland."  Then she passed on, and the tall man kept
looking after her.

Having piled her lighter luggage on a seat in a very brisk and
business-like fashion, Miss Holland strolled across the deck and leaned
with her back against the railings and her hands in the pockets of her
loose tweed coat, studying with a shrewd glance her fellow-passengers.
They included a number of soldiers in khaki, on leave apparently;
several nondescript and uninteresting people, mostly female; and the
tall man.  At him she glanced several times.  He was very obviously a
clergyman of some sort, in the conventional black felt hat and a long
dark overcoat; and yet though his face was not at all unclerical, it
seemed to her that he was not exactly the usual type.  Then she saw his
eyes turn on her again, and she gazed for some minutes at the pier just
above their heads.

The cable was cast off and the little steamer backed through the foam
of her own wake, and wheeling, set forth for the Isles.  For a while
Miss Holland watched the green semicircle slowly receding astern and
the shining waters opening ahead, and then turned to a more practical
matter.  Other passengers were eyeing the laden deck-seat.

"I'm afraid my things are in your way," she said, and crossing the deck
took up a bag and looked round where to put it.

The clergyman was beside her in a stride.

"Allow me.  I'll stow it away for you," he said.

He spoke with a smile, but with an air of complete decision and quiet
command, and with a murmur of thanks she yielded the bag almost
automatically.  As he moved off with it, it struck her that here was a
clergyman apparently accustomed to very prompt obedience from his flock.

They had been standing just aft of the deck-house, and with the bag in
his hand he passed by this to where a pile of lighter luggage had been
arranged on the deck.  As he went he looked at the bag curiously, and
then before putting it down he glanced over his shoulder.  The lady was
not in sight, and very swiftly but keenly he studied it more closely.
It was a suit-case made of an unusual brown, light material.  Turning
one end up quickly he read on a little plate this assurance by the
makers, "Garantirt echt Vulcanfibre."  And then slowly, and apparently
rather thoughtfully, he strolled back.

"You'll find it among the other luggage, just beyond the deck-house,"
he said, and then with an air of sudden thought added, "Perhaps I ought
to have put it with your other things, wherever they are."

"I have practically nothing else," said she, "except a trunk in the
hold."

"You are travelling very light," he remarked.  "That wasn't a very
substantial suit-case."

For a moment she seemed to be a little doubtful whether to consider him
a somewhat forward stranger.  Then she said with a frank smile--

"No; it was made in Germany."

As she spoke he glanced at her with a curious sudden intensity, that
might have been an ordinary trick of manner.

"Oh," he said with a smile.  "Before the war, I presume?"

"Yes," she answered briefly, and looked round her as though wondering
whether she should move.

But the clergyman seemed oblivious to the hint.

"Do you know Germany well?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.  "Do you?"

He nodded.

"Yes, pretty well--as it was before the war, of course.  I had some
good friends there at one time."

"So had I," she said.

"All in the past tense now," said he.

"I suppose so," she answered; "yet I sometimes find it hard to believe
that they are all as poisoned against England and as ignorant and
callous as people think.  I can't picture some of my friends like that!"

She seemed to have got over her first touch of resentment.  There was
certainly an air of good-breeding and even of distinction about the
man, and after all, his extreme assurance sat very naturally on him.
It had an unpremeditated matter-of-course quality that made it
difficult to remain offended.

"It is hard to picture a good many things," he said thoughtfully.
"Were you long in Germany?"

She told him two years, and then questioned him in return; but he
seemed to have a gift for conveying exceedingly little information with
an air of remarkable finality--as though he had given a complete report
and there was an end of it.  On the other hand, he had an equal gift
for putting questions in a way that made it impossible not to answer
without churlishness.  For his manner never lacked courtesy, and he
showed a flattering interest in each word of her replies.  She felt
that she had never met a man who had put her more on her mettle and
made her instinctively wish more to show herself to advantage.

Yet she seemed fully capable of holding her own, for after half an
hour's conversation it would have been remarkably difficult to essay a
biographical sketch of Miss Eileen Holland.  She had spent a number of
years abroad, and confessed to being a fair linguist; she was going to
the Islands "to stay with some people"; and she had previously done "a
little" war work--so little, apparently, that she had been advised to
seek a change of air, as her companion observed with a smile.

"Anyhow, I have not done enough," she said with a sudden intensity of
suppressed feeling in her voice.

The keen-faced clergyman glanced at her quickly, but said nothing.  A
minute or two later he announced that he had some correspondence to
look over, and thereupon he left her with the same air of decision
instantly acted on with which he had first addressed her.  He passed
through the door of the deck-house, and she got a glimpse of his head
going down the companion.  Her face remained quite composed, but in her
eyes there seemed to be the trace of a suggestion that she was unused
to see gentlemen quit her side quite so promptly.

A few minutes later she went down herself to the ladies' cabin.  Coming
out, the foot of the companion was immediately opposite, and beyond
stretched the saloon.  At the far end of this sat the clergyman, and at
the sight of him Miss Holland paused for a moment at the foot of the
ladder and looked at him with a face that seemed to show both a little
amusement and a little wonder.  He sat quite by himself, with a bundle
of papers on the table at his elbow.  One of these was in his hand, and
he was reading it with an air of extraordinary concentration.  He had
carelessly pushed back his black felt hat, and what arrested her was
the odd impression this produced.  With his hat thus rakishly tilted,
all traces of his clerical profession seemed mysteriously to have
vanished.  The white dog-collar was there all right, but unaided it
seemed singularly incapable of making him into a conventional minister.
Miss Holland went up on deck rather thoughtfully.  The little mail boat
was now far out in the midst of a waste of waters.  The ill-omened
tideway was on its best behaviour; but even so, there was a constant
gentle roll as the oily swell swung in from the Atlantic.  Ahead, on
the starboard bow, loomed the vast island precipices; astern the long
Scottish coast faded into haze.  One other vessel alone was to be
seen--a long, low, black ship with a single spike of a mast and several
squat funnels behind it.  An eccentric vessel this seemed; for she
first meandered towards the mail boat and then meandered away again,
with no visible business on the waters.

The girl moved along the deck till she came to the place where her
suit-case had been stowed.  Close beside it were two leather kit-bags,
and as she paused there it was on these that her eyes fell.  She looked
at them, in fact, very attentively.  On each were the initials "A.B.",
and on their labels the legend, "The Rev. Alex. Burnett."  She came a
step nearer and studied them still more closely.  A few old
luggage-labels were still affixed, and one at least of these bore the
word "Berwick."  Miss Holland seemed curiously interested by her
observations.

A little later the clergyman reappeared, and approached her like an old
acquaintance.  By this time they were running close under the cliffs,
and they gazed together up to the dizzy heights a thousand feet above
their heads, where dots of sea-birds circled hardly to be distinguished
by the eye, and then down to the green swell and bursting foam at the
foot of that stupendous wall.  In the afternoon sun it glowed like a
wall of copper.  For a few minutes both were instinctively silent.
There was nothing to be said of such a spectacle.

Then Miss Holland suddenly asked--

"Do you live near the sea?"

"Not very," he answered with his air of finality.

But this time she persisted.

"What is your part of the country?"

"Berwickshire," he said briefly.

"Do you happen to know a minister there--a Mr Burnett?" she inquired.

"That is my own name," he said quietly.

"Mr Alexander Burnett?"

He nodded.

"That is very funny," she said.  "There must be two of you.  I happen
to have stayed in those parts and met the other."

There seemed to be no expression at all in his eyes as they met hers;
nor did hers reveal anything.  Then he looked round them quietly.
There were several passengers not far away.

"It would be rather pleasant in the bows," he suggested.  "Shall we
move along there for a little?"

He made the proposal very courteously, and yet it sounded almost as
much a command as a suggestion, and he began to move even as he spoke.
She started too, and exchanging a casual sentence as they went, they
made their way forward till they stood together in the very prow with
the bow wave beneath their feet, and the air beating cold upon their
faces,--a striking solitary couple.

"I'm wondering if yon's a married meenister!" said one of their
fellow-passengers--a facetious gentleman.

"It's no' his wife, anyhow!" grinned his friend.

A little later the wit wondered again.

"I'm wondering how long thae two are gaun tae stand there!" he said
this time.

The cliffs fell and a green sound opened.  The mail boat turned into
the sound, opening inland prospects all the while.  A snug bay followed
the sound, with a little grey-gabled town clinging to the very wash of
the tide, and a host of little vessels in the midst.  Into the bay
pounded the mail boat and up towards the town, and only then did the
gallant minister and his fair acquaintance stroll back from the bows.
The wag and his friend looked at them curiously, but they had to admit
that such a prolonged flirtation had seldom left fewer visible traces.
They might have been brother and sister, they both looked so
indifferent.

The gangway shot aboard, and with a brief hand-shake the pair parted.
A few minutes later Miss Holland was being greeted by an elderly
gentleman in a heavy ulster, whilst the minister was following a porter
towards a small waggonette.



VI.

THE VANISHING GOVERNESS.

The house of Breck was a mansion of tolerable antiquity as mansions
went in the islands, and several curious stories had already had time
to encrust it, like lichen on an aged wall.  But none of them were
stranger than the quite up-to-date and literally true story of the
vanishing governess.

Richard Craigie, Esq., of Breck, the popular, and more or less
respected, laird of the mansion and estate, was a stout grey-bearded
gentleman, with a twinkling blue eye, and one of the easiest-going
dispositions probably in Europe.  His wife, the respected, and more or
less popular, mistress of the mansion, was lean and short, and very
energetic.  Their sons were employed at present like everybody else's
sons, and do not concern this narrative.  But their two daughters, aged
fifteen and fourteen, were at home, and do concern it materially.

It was only towards the end of July that Mrs Craigie thought of having
a governess for the two girls during the summer holidays.  With a
letter in her hand, she bustled into Mr Craigie's smoking-room, and
announced that her friend Mrs Armitage, in Kensington, knew a lady who
knew a charming and well-educated girl--

"And who does she know?" interrupted her husband.

"Nobody," said Mrs Craigie.  "She is the girl."

"Oh!" said the laird.  "Now I thought that she would surely know
another girl who knows a woman, who knows a man----"

"Richard!" said his wife.  "Kindly listen to me!"

It had been her fate to marry a confirmed domestic humourist, but she
bore her burden stoically.  She told him now simply and firmly that the
girl in question required a holiday, and that she proposed to give her
one, and in return extract some teaching and supervision for their
daughters.

"Have it your own way, my dear.  Have it your own way," said he.  "It
was economy yesterday.  It's a governess to-day.  Have you forced the
safe?"

"Which safe?" demanded the unsuspecting lady.

"At the bank.  I've no more money of my own, I can tell you.  However,
send for your governess--get a couple of them as you're at it!"

The humourist was clearly so pleased with his jest that no further
debate was to be apprehended, and his wife went out to write the
letter.  Mr Craigie lit his sixteenth pipe since breakfast and chewed
the cud of his wit very happily.

A fortnight later he returned one evening in the car, bringing Miss
Eileen Holland, with her trunk and her brown suit-case.

"My hat, Selina!" said he to his wife, as soon as the girls had led
Miss Holland out of hearing, "that's the kind of governess for me!  You
don't mind my telling her to call me Dick, do you?  It slipped out when
she was squeezing my hand."

"I don't mind you're being undignified," replied Mrs Craigie in a
chilly voice, "but I do wish you wouldn't be vulgar."

As Mr Craigie's chief joys in life were entertaining his daughters and
getting a rise out of his wife, and as he also had a very genuine
admiration for a pretty face, he was in the seventh heaven of
happiness, and remained there for the next three days.  Pipe in mouth,
he invaded the schoolroom constantly and unseasonably, and reduced his
daughters to a state of incoherent giggling by retailing to Miss
Holland various ingenious schemes for their corporal punishment, airing
humorous fragments of a language he called French, and questioning
their instructor on suppositious romantic episodes in her career.  He
thought Miss Holland hardly laughed as much as she ought; still, she
was a fine girl.

At table he kept his wife continually scandalised by his jocularities;
such as hoarsely whispering, "I've lost my half of the sixpence, Miss
Holland," or repeating, with a thoughtful air, "Under the apple-tree
when the moon rises--I must try and not forget the hour!"  Miss Holland
was even less responsive to these sallies, but he enjoyed them
enormously himself, and still maintained she was a fine girl.

Mrs Craigie's opinion of her new acquisition was only freely expressed
afterwards, and then she declared that clever though Miss Holland
undoubtedly was, and superior though she seemed, she had always
suspected that something was a little wrong somewhere.  She and Mr
Craigie had used considerable influence and persuasion to obtain a
passport for her, and why should they have been called upon to do this
(by a lady whom Mrs Armitage admitted she had only met twice), simply
to give a change of air to a healthy-looking girl?  There was something
behind _that_.  Besides, Miss Holland was just a trifle too
good-looking.  That type always had a history.

"My wife was plain Mrs Craigie before the thing happened," observed her
husband with a twinkle, "but, dash it, she's been Mrs Solomon ever
since!"

It was on the fourth morning of Miss Holland's visit that the telegram
came for her.  Mr Craigie himself brought it into the schoolroom and
delivered it with much facetious mystery.  He noticed that it seemed to
contain a message of some importance, and that she failed to laugh at
all when he offered waggishly to put "him" up for the night.  But she
simply put it in her pocket and volunteered no explanation.  He went
away feeling that he had wasted a happy quip.

After lunch Mrs Craigie and the girls were going out in the car, and
Miss Holland was to have accompanied them.  It was then that she made
her only reference to the telegram.  She had got a wire, she said, and
had a long letter to write, and so begged to be excused.  Accordingly
the car went off without her.

Not five minutes later Mr Craigie was smoking a pipe and trying to
summon up energy to go for a stroll, when Miss Holland entered the
smoking-room.  He noticed that she had never looked so smiling and
charming.

"Oh, Mr Craigie," she said, "I want you to help me.  I'm preparing a
little surprise!"

"For the girls?"

"For all of you!"

The laird loved a practical jest, and scented happiness at once.

"I'm your man!" said he.  "What can I do for you?"

"I'll come down again in half an hour," said she.  "And then I want you
to help me to carry something."

She gave him a swift bewitching smile that left him entirely helpless,
and hurried from the room.

Mr Craigie looked at the clock and decided that he would get his stroll
into the half-hour, so he took his stick and sauntered down the drive.
On one side of this drive was a line of huddled wind-bent trees, and at
the end was a gate opening on the highroad, with the sea close at hand.
Just as he got to the gate a stranger appeared upon the road, walking
very slowly, and up to that moment concealed by the trees.  He was a
clergyman, tall, clean-shaved, and with what the laird afterwards
described as a "hawky kind of look."

There was no haughtiness whatever about the laird of Breck.  He
accosted every one he met, and always in the friendliest way.

"A fine day!" said he heartily.  "Grand weather for the crops, if we
could just get a wee bit more of rain soon."

The clergyman stopped.

"Yes, sir," said he, "it is fine weather."

His manner was polite, but not very hearty, the laird thought.
However, he was not easily damped, and proceeded to contribute several
more observations, chiefly regarding the weather prospects, and tending
to become rapidly humorous.  And then he remembered his appointment in
the smoking-room.

"Well," said he, "good day to you!  I must be moving, I'm afraid."

"Good day," said the stranger courteously, and moved off promptly as he
spoke.

"I wonder who will that minister be?" said Mr Craigie to himself as he
strolled back.  "It's funny I never saw the man before.  And I wonder,
too, where he was going?"

And then it occurred to him as an odd circumstance that the minister
had started to go back again, not to continue as he had been walking.

"That's a funny thing," he thought.

He had hardly got back to his smoking-room when Miss Holland appeared,
dressed to go out, in hat and tweed coat, and dragging, of all things,
her brown suit-case.  It seemed to be heavily laden.

She smiled at him confidentially, as one fellow-conspirator at another.

"Do you mind giving me a hand with this?" said she.

"Hullo!" cried the laird.  "What's this--an elopement?  Can you not
wait till I pack my things too?  The minister's in no hurry.  I've just
been speaking to him."

It struck him that Miss Holland took his jest rather seriously.

"The minister?" said she in rather an odd voice.  "You've spoken to
him?"

"He was only asking if I had got the licence," winked Mr Craigie.

The curious look passed from her face, and she laughed as pleasantly as
he could wish.

"I'll take the bag myself," said the laird.  "Oh, it's no weight for
me.  I used to be rather a dab at throwing the hammer in my day.  But
where am I to take it?"

"I'll show you," said she.

So out they set, Mr Craigie carrying the suit-case, and Miss Holland in
the most delightful humour beside him.  He felt he could have carried
it for a very long way.  She led him through the garden and out into a
side lane between the wall and a hedge.

"Just put it down here," she said.  "And now I want you to come back
for something else, if you don't mind."

"Mind?" said the laird gallantly.  "Not me!  But I'm wondering what you
are driving at."

She only smiled, but from her merry eye he felt sure that some very
brilliant jest was afoot, and he joked away pleasantly as they returned
to the house.

"Now," she said, "do you mind waiting in the smoking-room for ten
minutes or so?"

She went out, and Mr Craigie waited, mystified but happy.  He waited
for ten minutes; he waited for twenty, he waited for half an hour, and
still there was no sign of the fascinating Miss Holland.  And then he
sent a servant to look for her.  Her report gave Mr Craigie the
strongest sensation that had stirred that good-natured humourist for
many a day.  Miss Holland was not in her room, and no more, apparently,
were her belongings.  The toilette table was stripped, the wardrobe was
empty; in fact, the only sign of her was her trunk, strapped and locked.

Moving with exceptional velocity, Mr Craigie made straight for the lane
beyond the garden.  The brown suit-case had disappeared.

"Well, I'm jiggered!" murmured the baffled humourist.

Very slowly and soberly he returned to the house, lit a fresh pipe, and
steadied his nerves with a glass of grog.  When Mrs Craigie returned,
she found him sufficiently revived to jest again, though in a minor key.

"To think of the girl having the impudence to make me carry her luggage
out of the house for her!" said he.  "Gad, but it was a clever dodge to
get clear with no one suspecting her!  Well, anyhow, my reputation is
safe again at last, Selina."

"Your reputation!" replied Mrs Craigie in a withering voice.  "For
what?  Not for common-sense anyhow!"

"You're flustered, my dear," said the laird easily.  "It's a habit
women get into terrible easy.  You should learn a lesson from Miss
Eileen Holland.  Dashed if I ever met a cooler hand in my life!"

"And what do you mean to do about it?" demanded his wife.

"Do?" asked Mr Craigie, mildly surprised.  "Well, we might leave the
pantry window open at night, so that she can get in again if she's
wanting to; or----"

"It's your duty to inform the authorities, Richard!"

"Duty?" repeated the laird, still more surprised.  "Fancy me starting
to do my duty at my time of life!"

"Anyhow," cried Mrs Craigie, "we've still got her trunk!"

"Ah," said Mr Craigie, happily at last, "so we have!  Well, that's all
right then."

And with a benign expression the philosopher contentedly lit another
pipe.



PART III.

LIEUTENANT VON BELKE'S NARRATIVE RESUMED



I.

THE MEETING.

As the dusk rapidly thickened and I lay in the heather waiting for the
signal, I gave myself one last bit of good advice.  Of "him" I was to
meet, I had received officially a pretty accurate description, and
unofficially heard one or two curious stories.  I had also, of course,
had my exact relationship to him officially defined.  I was to be under
his orders, generally speaking; but in purely naval matters, or at
least on matters of naval detail, my judgment would be accepted by him.
My last word of advice to myself simply was to be perfectly firm on any
such point, and permit no scheme to be set afoot, however tempting,
unless it was thoroughly practical from the naval point of view.

From the rim of my hollow there on the hillside I could see several of
the farms below me, as well as the manse, and I noted one little sign
of British efficiency--no glimmer of light shown from any of their
windows.  At sea a light or two twinkled intermittently, and a
searchlight was playing, though fortunately not in my direction.
Otherwise land and water were alike plunged in darkness.  And then at
last one single window of the manse glowed red for an instant.  A few
seconds passed, and it shone red again.  Finally it showed a brighter
yellow light twice in swift succession.

I rose and very carefully led my cycle over the heather down to the
road, and then, still pushing it, walked quickly down the steep hill to
where the side road turned off.  There was not a sound save my footfall
as I approached the house.  A dark mass loomed in front of me, which I
saw in a moment to be a garden wall with a few of the low wind-bent
island trees showing above it.  This side road led right up to an iron
gate in the wall, and just as I got close enough to distinguish the
bars, I heard a gentle creak and saw them begin to swing open.  Beyond,
the trees overarched the drive, and the darkness was profound.  I had
passed between the gate-posts before I saw or heard anything more.  And
then a quiet voice spoke.

"It is a dark night," it said in perfect English.

"Dark as pitch," I answered.

"It was darker last night," said the voice.

"It is dark enough," I answered.

Not perhaps a very remarkable conversation, you may think; but I can
assure you my fingers were on my revolver, just in case one single word
had been different.  Now I breathed freely at last.

"Herr Tiel?" I inquired.

"Mr Tiel," corrected the invisible man beside me.

I saw him then for the first time as he stepped out from the shelter of
the trees and closed the gate behind me--a tall dim figure in black.

"I'll lead your cycle," he said in a low voice, as he came back to me;
"I know the way best."

He took it from me, and as we walked side by side towards the house he
said--

"Permit me, Mr Belke, to give you one little word of caution.  While
you are here, forget that you can talk German!  _Think_ in English, if
you can.  We are walking on a tight-rope, not on the pavement.  _No_
precaution is excessive!"

"I understand," I said briefly.

There was in his voice, perfectly courteous though it was, a note of
command which made one instinctively reply briefly--and obediently.  I
felt disposed to be favourably impressed with my ally.

He left me standing for a moment in the drive while he led my
motor-cycle round to some shed at the back, and then we entered the
house by the front door.

"My servant doesn't spend the night here," he explained, "so we are
safe enough after dark, as long as we make no sound that can be heard
outside."

It was pitch-dark inside, and only when he had closed and bolted the
front door behind us, did Tiel flash his electric torch.  Then I saw
that we stood in a small porch which opened into a little hall, with a
staircase facing us, and a passage opening beside it into the back of
the house.  At either side was a door, and Tiel opened that on the
right and led me into a pleasant, low, lamp-lit room with a bright peat
fire blazing and a table laid for supper.  I learned afterwards that
the clergyman who had just vacated the parish had left hurriedly, and
that his books and furniture had not yet followed him.  Hence the room,
and indeed the whole house, looked habitable and comfortable.

"This is the place I have been looking for for a long time!" I cried
cheerfully, for indeed it made a pleasant contrast to a ruinous farm or
the interior of a submarine.

Tiel smiled.  He had a pleasant smile, but it generally passed from his
face very swiftly, and left his expression cool, alert, composed, and a
trifle dominating.

"You had better take off your overalls and begin," he said.  "There is
an English warning against conversation between a full man and a
fasting.  I have had supper already."

When I took off my overalls, I noticed that he gave me a quick look of
surprise.

"In uniform!" he exclaimed.

"It may not be much use if I'm caught," I laughed, "but I thought it a
precaution worth taking."

"Excellent!" he agreed, and he seemed genuinely pleased.  "It was very
well thought of.  Do you drink whisky-and-soda?"

"You have no beer?"

He smiled and shook his head.

"I am a Scottish divine," he said, "and I am afraid my guests must
submit to whisky.  Even in these little details it is well to be
correct."

For the next half-hour there was little conversation.  To tell you the
truth I was nearly famished, and had something better to do than talk.
Tiel on his part opened a newspaper, and now and then read extracts
aloud.  It was an English newspaper, of course, and I laughed once or
twice at its items.  He smiled too, but he did not seem much given to
laughter.  And all the while I took stock of my new acquaintance very
carefully.

In appearance Adolph Tiel was just as he had been described to me, and
very much as my imagination had filled in the picture: a man tall,
though not very tall, clean-shaved, rather thin, decidedly English in
his general aspect, distinctly good-looking, with hair beginning to
turn grey, and cleverness marked clearly in his face.  What I had not
been quite prepared for was his air of good-breeding and authority.
Not that there was any real reason why these qualities should have been
absent, but as a naval officer of a country whose military services
have pretty strong prejudices, I had scarcely expected to find in a
secret-service agent quite this air.

Also what I had heard of Tiel had prepared me to meet a gentleman in
whom cleverness was more conspicuous than dignity.  Even those who
professed to know something about him had admitted that he was a bit of
a mystery.  He was said to come either from Alsace or Lorraine, and to
be of mixed parentage and the most cosmopolitan experience.  One story
had it that he served at one period of his very diverse career in the
navy of a certain South American State, and this story I very soon came
to the conclusion was correct, for he showed a considerable knowledge
of naval affairs.  Even when he professed ignorance of certain points,
I was inclined to suspect he was simply trying to throw doubt upon the
reports which he supposed I had heard, for rumour also said that he had
quitted the service of his adopted country under circumstances which
reflected more credit on his brains than his honesty.

In fact, my informants were agreed that Herr Tiel's brains were very
remarkable indeed, and that his nerve and address were equal to his
ability.  He was undoubtedly very completely in the confidence of my
own Government, and I could mention at least two rather serious mishaps
that had befallen England which were credited to him by people who
certainly ought to have known the facts.

Looking at him attentively as he sat before the fire studying 'The
Scotsman' (the latest paper to be obtained in those parts), I thought
to myself that here was a man I should a very great deal sooner have on
my side than against me.  If ever I had seen a wolf in sheep's
clothing, it seemed to me that I beheld one now in the person of Adolph
Tiel, attired as a Scottish clergyman, reading a solid Scottish
newspaper over the peat fire of this remote and peaceful manse.  And,
to complete the picture, there sat I arrayed in a German naval uniform,
with the unsuspecting Grand Fleet on the other side of those shuttered
and curtained windows.  The piquancy of the whole situation struck me
so forcibly that I laughed aloud.

Tiel looked up and laid down his paper, and his eyebrows rose
inquiringly.  He was not a man who wasted many words.

"We are a nice pair!" I exclaimed.

I seemed to read approval of my spirit in his eye.

"You seem none the worse of your adventures," he said with a smile.

"No thanks to you!" I laughed.

Again he gave me that keen look of inquiry.

"I landed on this infernal island last night!" I explained.

"The deuce you did!" said he.  "I was afraid you might, but as things
turned out I couldn't get here sooner.  What did you do with yourself?"

"First give me one of those cigars," I said, "and then I'll tell you."

He handed me the box of cigars and I drew up an easy-chair on the other
side of the fire.  And then I told him my adventures, and as I was not
unwilling that this redoubtable adventurer should see that he had a not
wholly unworthy accomplice, I told them in pretty full detail.  He was
an excellent listener, I must say that for him.  With an amused yet
appreciative smile, putting in now and then a question shrewd and to
the point, he heard my tale to the end.  And then he said in a quiet
manner which I already realised detracted nothing from the value of his
approval--

"You did remarkably well, Mr Belke.  I congratulate you."

"Thank you, Mr Tiel," I replied.  "And now may I ask you your
adventures?"

"Certainly," said he.  "I owe you an explanation."



II.

TIEL'S STORY.

"How much do you know of our scheme?" asked Tiel.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Merely that you were going to impersonate a clergyman who was due to
come here and preach this next Sunday.  How you were going to achieve
this feat I wasn't told."

He leaned back in his chair and sucked at his pipe, and then he began
his story with a curious detached air, as though he were surveying his
own handiwork from the point of view of an impartial connoisseur.

"The idea was distinctly ingenious," said he, "and I think I may also
venture to claim for it a little originality.  I won't trouble you with
the machinery by which we learn things.  It's enough to mention that
among the little things we did learn was the fact that the minister of
this parish had left for another charge, and that the parishioners were
choosing his successor after the Scottish custom--by hearing a number
of candidates each preach a trial sermon."  He broke off and asked, "Do
you happen to have heard of Schumann?"

"You don't mean the great Schumann?"

"I mean a certain gentleman engaged in the same quiet line of business
as myself.  He is known of course under another name in England, where
he is considered a very fine specimen of John Bull at his best--a
jovial, talkative, commercial gentleman with nice spectacles like Mr
Pickwick, who subscribes to all the war charities and is never tired of
telling his friends what he would do with the Kaiser if he caught him."

I laughed aloud at this happy description of a typical John Bull.

"Well," he continued, "I suggested to Schumann the wild idea--as it
seemed to us at first--of getting into the islands in the guise of a
candidate for the parish of Myredale.  Two days later Schumann came to
me with his spectacles twinkling with excitement.

"'Look at this!' said he.

"He showed me a photograph in an illustrated paper.  It was the
portrait of a certain Mr Alexander Burnett, minister of a parish in the
south of Scotland, and I assure you that if the name 'Adolph Tiel' had
been printed underneath, none of my friends would have questioned its
being my own portrait.

"'The stars are fighting for us!' said Schumann.

"'They seem ready to enlist,' I agreed.

"'How shall we encourage them?' said he.

"'I shall let you know to-morrow,' I said.

"I went home and thought over the problem.  From the first I was
convinced that the only method which gave us a chance of success was
for this man Burnett to enter voluntarily as a candidate, make all the
arrangements himself--including the vital matter of a passport--and
finally start actually upon his journey.  Otherwise, no attempt to
impersonate him seemed to me to stand any chance of success.

"Next day I saw Schumann and laid down these conditions, and we set
about making preliminary inquiries.  They were distinctly promising.
Burnett's parish was a poor one, and from what we could gather, he had
already been thinking for some time past of making a change.

"We began by sending him anonymously a paper containing a notice of the
vacancy here.  That of course was just to set him thinking about it.
The next Sunday Schumann motored down to his parish, saw for himself
that the resemblance to me was actually quite remarkable, and then
after service made the minister's acquaintance.  Imagine the good Mr
Burnett's surprise and interest when this pleasant stranger proved to
be intimately acquainted with the vacant parish of Myredale, and
described it as a second Garden of Eden!  Before they parted Schumann
saw that the fish was hooked.

"The next problem was how to make the real Burnett vanish into space,
and substitute the false Burnett without raising a trace of suspicion
till my visit here was safely over.  Again luck was with us.  We sent
an agent down to make inquiries of his servant a few days before he
started, and found that he was going to spend a night with a friend in
Edinburgh on his way north."

Tiel paused to knock the ashes out of his pipe, and I remarked--

"At first sight I confess that seems to me to complicate the problem.
You would have to wait till Burnett had left Edinburgh, wouldn't you?"

Tiel smiled and shook his head.

"That is what we thought ourselves at first," said he, "but our second
thoughts were better.  What do you think of a wire to Burnett from his
friend in Edinburgh telling him that a Mr Taylor would call for him in
his motor-car: plus a wire to the friend in Edinburgh from Mr Burnett
regretting that his visit must be postponed?"

"Excellent!" I laughed.

"Each wire, I may add, contained careful injunctions not to reply.  And
I may also add that the late Mr Burnett was simplicity itself."

I started involuntarily.

"The 'late' Mr Burnett!  Do you mean----"

"What else could one do with him?" asked Tiel calmly.  "Both Schumann
and I believe in being thorough."

Of course this worthy pair were but doing their duty.  Still I was glad
to think they had done their dirty work without my assistance, It was
with a conscious effort that I was able to ask calmly--

"How did you manage it?"

"Mr Taylor, with his car and his chauffeur, called at the manse.  The
chauffeur remained in the car, keeping his face unostentatiously
concealed.  Mr Taylor enjoyed the minister's hospitality till the
evening had sufficiently fallen.  Then we took him to Edinburgh by the
coast road."

Tiel paused and looked at me, as though to see how I was enjoying the
gruesome tale.  I am afraid I made it pretty clear that I was not
enjoying it in the least.  The idea of first partaking of the wretched
man's hospitality, and then coolly murdering him, was a little too much
for my stomach.  Tiel, however, seemed rather amused than otherwise
with my attitude.

"We knocked him on the head at a quiet part of the road, stripped him
of every stitch of clothing, tied a large stone to his feet, and
pitched him over the cliff," he said calmly.

"And his clothes----," I began, shrinking back a little in my chair.

"Are these," said Tiel, indicating his respectable-looking suit of
black.

Curiously enough this was the only time I heard the man tell a tale of
this sort, and in this diabolical, deliberate, almost flippant way.  It
was in marked contrast to his usually brief, concise manner of
speaking.  Possibly it was my reception of his story that discouraged
him from exhibiting this side of his nature again.  I certainly made no
effort to conceal my distaste now.

"Thank God, I am not in the secret service!" I said devoutly.

"I understand you are in the submarine service," said Tiel in a dry
voice.

"I am--and I am proud of it!"

"Have you never fired a torpedo at an inoffensive merchant ship?"

"That is very different!" I replied hotly.

"It is certainly more wholesale," said he.

I sprang up.

"Mr Tiel," I said, "kindly understand that a German naval officer is
not in the habit of enduring affronts to his service!"

"But you think a German secret-service agent should have no such
pride?" he inquired.

"I decline to discuss the question any further," I said stiffly.

For a moment he seemed exceedingly amused.  Then he saw that I was in
no humour for jesting on the subject, and he ceased to smile.

"Have another cigar?" he said, in a quiet matter-of-fact voice, just as
though nothing had happened to ruffle the harmony of the evening.

"You quite understand what I said?" I demanded in an icy voice.

"I thought the subject was closed," he replied with a smile, and then
jumping up he laid his hand on my arm in the friendliest fashion.  "My
dear Belke," said he, "we are going to be shut up together in this
house for several days, and if we begin with a quarrel we shall
certainly end in murder.  Let us respect one another's point of view,
and say no more about it."

"I don't know what you mean by 'one another's point of view,'" I
answered politely but coldly.  "So far as I am aware there is only one
point of view, and I have just stated it.  If we both respect that,
there will be no danger of our quarrelling."

He glanced at me for a moment in an odd way, and then said merely--

"Well, are you going to have another cigar, or would you like to go to
bed?"

"With your permission I shall go to bed," I said.

He conducted me through the hall and down the passage that led to the
back premises.  At the end rose a steep and narrow stair.  We ascended
this, and at the top found a narrow landing with a door at either end
of it.

"This is your private flat," he explained in a low voice.  "The old
house, you will see, has been built in two separate instalments, which
have separate stairs and no communication with one another on the upper
landing.  These two rooms are supposed to be locked up and not in use
at present, but I have secured their keys."

He unlocked one of the doors, and we entered the room.  It was square,
and of quite a fair size.  On two sides the walls sloped attic-wise, in
a third was a fireplace and a window, and in the fourth two doors--the
second opening into a large cupboard.  This room had simple bedroom
furniture, and also a small table and a basket chair.  When we entered,
it was lit only by a good fire, and pervaded by a pleasant aroma of
peat smoke.  Tiel lighted a paraffin lamp and remarked--

"You ought to be quite comfortable here."

Personally, I confess that my breath was fairly taken away.  I had
anticipated sleeping under the roof in some dark and chilly garret, or
perhaps in the straw of an outhouse.

"Comfortable!" I exclaimed.  "Mein Gott, who would not be on secret
service!  But are you sure all this is safe?  This fire, for
instance--the smoke surely will be seen."

"I have promised to keep the bedrooms aired while I am staying here,"
smiled Tiel.

He then explained in detail the arrangements of our remarkable
household.  He himself slept in the front part of the house, up the
other staircase.  The room opposite mine was empty, and so was the room
underneath; but below the other was the kitchen, and I was warned to be
very quiet in my movements.  The single servant arrived early in the
morning, and left about nine o'clock at night: she lived, it seemed, at
a neighbouring farm; and Tiel assured me there was nothing to be feared
from her provided I was reasonably careful.

I had brought with me a razor, a toothbrush, and a brush and comb, and
Tiel had very thoughtfully brought a spare sleeping suit and a pair of
slippers.  I was not at all sure that I was disposed to like the man,
but I had to admit that his thoroughness and his consideration for my
comfort were highly praiseworthy.  In fact, I told him so frankly, and
we parted for the night on friendly terms.

Tiel quietly descended the stairs, while I sat down before my fire and
smoked a last cigarette, and then very gratefully turned into my
comfortable bed.



III.

THE PLAN.

I slept like a log, and only awakened when Tiel came into my room next
morning, bringing my breakfast on a tray.  He had sent the servant over
to the farm for milk, he explained, and while I ate he sat down beside
my bed.

"Can you talk business now?" I asked.

"This afternoon," said he.

I made a grimace.

"I naturally don't want to waste my time," I observed.

"You won't," he assured me.

"But why this afternoon rather than this morning?  You can send the
servant out for a message whenever you choose."

"I hope to have a pleasant little surprise for you in the afternoon."

I was aware of the fondness of these secret-service agents for a bit of
mystery, and I knew I had to humour him.  But really it seems a
childish kind of vanity.

"There is one thing you can do for me," I said.  "If I am to kick up my
heels in this room all day--and probably for several days--I must have
a pen and ink and some foolscap."

After his fashion he asked no questions but merely nodded, and
presently brought them.

The truth was, I had conceived the idea of writing some account of my
adventure, and in fact I am writing these lines now in that very
bedroom I have described.  I am telling a story of which I don't know
the last chapter myself.  A curious position for an author!  If I am
caught--well, it will make no difference.  I have given nothing away
that won't inevitably be discovered if I am arrested.  And, mein Gott,
what a relief it has been!  I should have died of boredom otherwise.

If only my window looked out to sea!  But, unluckily, I am at the back
of the house and look, as it were sideways, on to a sloping hillside of
green ferns below and brown heather at the top.  By opening the window
and putting my head right out, I suppose I should catch a glimpse of
the sea, but then my neighbours would catch a glimpse of me.  I
expostulated with Tiel as soon as I realised how the room faced, but he
points out that the servant may go into any room in the front part of
the house, whereas this part is supposed to be closed.  I can see that
he is right, but it is nevertheless very tantalising.

On that Saturday afternoon Tiel came back to my room some hours later,
and under his quiet manner I could see that he bore tidings of
importance.  No one could come quicker to the point when he chose, and
this time he came to it at once.

"You remember the affair of the _Haileybury_?" he demanded.

"The British cruiser which was mined early in the war?"

He nodded.

"Perfectly," I said.

"You never at any time came across her captain?  His name was
Ashington."

"No," I said, "I have met very few British officers."

"I don't know whether you heard that she was supposed to be two miles
out of her proper course, contrary to orders, did you?"

"Was she?"

"Ashington says 'no.'  But he was court-martialled, and now he's in
command of a small boat--the _Yellowhammer_.  Before the loss of his
ship he was considered one of the most promising officers in the
British service; now----!"

Tiel made an expressive gesture and his eyes smiled at me oddly.  I
began to understand.

"Now he is an acquaintance of yours?"

Tiel nodded.

"But has he knowledge?  Has he special information?"

"His younger brother is on the flagship, and he has several very
influential friends.  I see that _my_ friends obtain knowledge."

I looked at him hard.

"You are _quite_ sure this is all right?  Such men are the last to be
trusted--even by those who pay them."

"Do you know many 'such men'?" he inquired.

"None, I am thankful to say."

"They are queer fish," said Tiel in a reminiscent way, "but they
generally do the thing pretty thoroughly, especially when one has a
firm enough hold of them.  Ashington is absolutely reliable."

"Where is he to be seen?"

"He went out for a walk this afternoon," said Tiel drily, "and happened
to call at the manse to see if he could get a cup of tea--a very
natural thing to do.  Come--the coast is clear."

He led the way downstairs and I followed him, not a little excited, I
confess.  How my mission was going to develop, I had no clear idea when
I set forth upon it, but though I had imagined several possible
developments, I was not quite prepared for this.  To have an officer of
the Grand Fleet actually assisting at our councils was decidedly
unexpected.  I began to realise more and more that Adolph Tiel was a
remarkable person.

In the front parlour an officer rose as we entered, and the British and
German uniforms bowed to each other under circumstances which were
possibly unique.  Because, though Ashingtons do exist and these things
sometimes happen, they generally happen in mufti.  I looked at our
visitor very hard.  On his part, he looked at me sharply for a moment,
and then averted his eyes.  I should certainly have done the same in
his place.

He was a big burly man, dark, and getting bald.  His voice was deep and
rich; his skin shone with physical fitness; altogether he was a fine
gross animal, and had his spirit been as frank and jovial as his
appearance suggested, I could have pictured him the jolliest of company
in the ward-room and the life and soul of a desperate enterprise.  But
he maintained a frowning aspect, and was clearly a man whose sullen
temper and sense of injury had led him into my friend's subtle net.
However, here he was, and it was manifestly my business not to
criticise but to make the most of him.

"Well, gentlemen," began Tiel, "I don't think we need beat about the
bush.  Captain Ashington has an idea, and it is for Lieutenant von
Belke to approve of it or not.  I know enough myself about naval
affairs to see that there are great possibilities in the suggestion,
but I don't know enough to advise on it."

"What is the suggestion?" I asked in a very dry and non-committal voice.

Captain Ashington, I noticed, cleared his throat before he began.

"The fleet is going out one evening next week," he said; "probably on
Thursday."

"How do you know?" I demanded.

He looked confidentially at Tiel.

"Mr Tiel knows the source of my information," he said.

"I should like to know it too," said I.

"I can vouch for Captain Ashington's information," said Tiel briefly.

There is something extraordinarily decisive and satisfying about Tiel
when he speaks like that.  I knew it must be all right; still, I felt
it my duty to make sure.

"Have you any objections to telling me?" I asked.

Tiel stepped to my side and whispered--

"I told you about his brother."

I understood, and did not press my question.  Whether to respect the
man for this remnant of delicacy, or to despise him for not being a
more thorough, honest blackguard, I was not quite sure.

"Well," I said, "suppose we know when they are going out, they will
take the usual precautions, I presume?"

Ashington leaned forward confidentially over the table.

"They are going out on a new course," he said in a low voice.

I pricked up my ears, but all I said was--

"Why is that?"

"On account of the currents.  The old passage hasn't been quite
satisfactory.  They are going to experiment with a new passage."

This certainly sounded all right, for I knew how diabolical the
tideways can be round these islands.

"Do you know the new course at all accurately?" I inquired.

Captain Ashington smiled for the first time, and somehow or other the
sight of a smile on his face gave me a strongly increased distaste for
the man.

"I know it exactly," he said.

He took out of his pocket a folded chart and laid it on the table.  The
three of us bent over it, and at a glance I could see that this was
business indeed.  All the alterations in the mine-fields were shown and
the course precisely laid down.

"Well," said Tiel, "I think this suggests something, Belke."

By this time I was inwardly burning with excitement.

"I hope to have the pleasure of being present just about that spot," I
said, pointing to the chart.

"Or there," suggested Ashington.

"Either would do very nicely, so far as I can judge," said Tiel.  "How
many submarines can you concentrate, and how long will it take you to
concentrate them?"

I considered the question.

"I am afraid there is no use in concentrating more than two or three in
such narrow waters," I said.  "Squadronal handling of submarines of
course is impossible except on the surface.  And we clearly can't keep
on the surface!"

Captain Ashington looked at me in a way I did not at all like.

"We run a few risks in the British navy," he said.  "D--n it, you'll
have a sitting target!  I'd crowd in every blank submarine the water
would float if I were running this stunt!"

"You don't happen to be running it," I said coldly.

Tiel touched me lightly on the shoulder and gave me a swift smile,
pleasant but admonitory.

"The happy mean seems to be suggested," he said soothingly.  "There's a
great deal to be said for both points of view.  On the one hand you
risk submarines: on the other hand you make the battle-fleet run risks.
One has simply to balance those.  What about half a dozen submarines?"

I shook my head.

"Too many," I said.  "Besides, we couldn't concentrate them in the
time."

"How many could you?"

"Four," I said; "if I can get back to my boat on Monday, we'll have
them there on Thursday."

Tiel produced a bottle of whisky and syphons and we sat over the chart
discussing details for some time longer.  It was finally handed over to
me, and Captain Ashington rose to go.

"By the way," I said, "there is one very important preliminary to be
arranged.  How am I to get back to my boat?"

"That will be all right," said Tiel confidently; "I have just heard
from Captain Ashington that they have arrested the wrong man on
suspicion of being the gentleman who toured the country yesterday.  The
only thing is that they can't find his cycle.  Now I think if we could
arrange to have your motor-cycle quietly left near his house and
discovered by the authorities, they are not likely to watch the roads
any longer."

"I'll fix that up," said Captain Ashington promptly.

"How will you manage it?" I asked.

"Trust him," said Tiel.

"But then how shall I get back?"

"I shall drive you over," smiled Tiel.  "There will probably be a dying
woman who desires the consolations of religion in that neighbourhood on
Monday night."

I smiled too, but merely at the cunning of the man, not at the thought
of parting with my motor-cycle.  However, I saw perfectly well that it
would be folly to ride it over, and if I left it behind at the
manse--well, I was scarcely likely to call for it again!

"Now, Belke," said Tiel, "we had better get you safely back to your
turret chamber.  You have been away quite as long as is safe."

I bowed to Captain Ashington--I could not bring myself to touch his
hand, and we left his great gross figure sipping whisky-and-soda.

"What do you think of him?" asked Tiel.

"He seems extremely competent," I answered candidly.  "But what an
unspeakable scoundrel!"

"We mustn't quarrel with our instruments," said he philosophically.
"He is doing Germany a good turn.  Surely that is enough."

"I should like to think that Germany did not need to stoop to use such
characters!"

"Yes," he agreed, though in a colourless voice, "one would indeed like
to think so."

I could see that Adolph Tiel had not many scruples left after his
cosmopolitan experiences.



IV.

WHAT HAPPENED ON SUNDAY.

That evening when we had the house to ourselves, I joined Tiel in the
parlour, and we had a long talk on naval matters, British and German.
He knew less of British naval affairs than I did, but quite enough
about German to make him a keen listener and a very suggestive talker.
In fact I found him excellent company.  I even suspected him at last of
being a man of good birth, and quite fitting company for a German
officer.  But of course he may have acquired his air of breeding from
mixing with men like myself.  As for his name, that of course gave no
guide, for I scarcely supposed that he had been Tiel throughout his
adventurous career.  I threw out one or two "feelers" on the subject,
but no oyster could be more secretive than Adolph Tiel when he chose.

That night I heard the wind wandering noisily round the old house, and
I wakened in the morning to find the rain beating on the window.  Tiel
came in rather late with my breakfast, and I said to him at once--

"I have just remembered that this is Sunday.  I wish I could come and
hear your sermon, Tiel!"

"I wish you could, too," said he.  "It will be a memorable event in the
parish."

"But are you actually going to do it?"

"How can I avoid it?"

"You are so ingenious I should have thought you would have hit upon a
plan."

He looked at me in his curious way.

"Why should I have tried to get out of it?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Personally, I shouldn't feel anxious to make a mock of religion if I
could avoid it."

"We are such a religious people," said he, "that surely we can count on
God forgiving us more readily than other nations."

He spoke in his driest voice, and for a moment I looked at him
suspiciously.  But he was perfectly grave.

"Still," I replied, "I am glad the Navy doesn't have to preach bogus
sermons!"

"Ah," said he, "the German navy has to keep on its pedestal.  But the
secret service must sometimes creep about in the dust."

His eyes suddenly twinkled as he added--

"But never fear, I shall give them a beautiful sermon!  The text will
be the passage about Joshua and the spies, and the first hymn will be,
'Onward, Christian Sailors.'"

He threw me a humorous glance and went out.  I smiled back, but I
confess I was not very much amused.  Neither the irreverence nor the
jest about the sailors (since it referred apparently to me) struck me
as in the best of taste.

That morning was one of the dreariest I ever spent.  The wind rose to
half a gale, and the fine rain beat in torrents on the panes.  I wrote
diligently for some time, but after a while I grew tired of that and
paced the floor in my stockinged feet (for the sake of quietness) like
a caged animal.  My one consolation was that to-morrow would see the
end of my visit.  Already I longed for the cramped quarters and
perpetual risks of the submarine, and detested these islands even more
bitterly than I hated any other part of Britain.

In the early afternoon I had a pleasant surprise.  Tiel came in and
told me that his servant had gone out for the rest of the day, and that
I could safely come down to the parlour.  There I had a late luncheon
in comparative comfort, and moreover I could look out of the windows on
to the sea.  And what a dreary prospect I saw!  Under a heavy sky and
with grey showers rolling over it, that open treeless country looked
desolation itself.  As for the waters, whitecaps chased each other over
the wind-whipped expanse of grey, fading into a wet blur of moving rain
a few miles out.  Through this loomed the nearer lines of giant ships,
while the farther were blotted clean out.  I thought of the long
winters when one day of this weather followed another for week after
week, month after month; when the northern days were brief and the
nights interminable, and this armada lay in these remote isles enduring
and waiting.  The German navy has had its gloomy and impatient seasons,
but not such a prolonged purgatory as that.  We have a different
arrangement.  Probably everybody knows what it is--still, one must not
say.

After lunch, when we had lit our cigars, Tiel said--

"By the way, you will be pleased to hear that my efforts this morning
were so successful that the people want me to give them another dose
next Sunday."

I stared at him.

"Really?" I exclaimed.

He nodded.

"But I thought there would be another preacher next Sunday."

"Oh, by no means.  There was no one for next Sunday, and they were only
too glad to have the pulpit filled."

"But will you risk it?"

He smiled confidently.

"If there is any danger, I shall get warning in plenty of time."

"To ensure your escape?"

"To vanish somehow."

"But why should you wait?"

He looked at me seriously and said deliberately--

"I have other schemes in my head--something even bigger.  It is too
early to talk yet, but it is worth running a little risk for."

I looked at this astonishing man with unconcealed admiration.
Regulations, authorities, precautions, dangers, he seemed to treat as
almost negligible.  And I had seen how he could contrive and what he
could effect.

"I am afraid I shall have to ask you to stay with me for a few days
longer," he added.

I don't think I ever got a more unpleasant shock.

"You mean you wish me _not_ to rejoin my ship to-morrow night?"

"I know it is asking a great deal of you; but, my dear Belke, duty is
duty."

"My duty is with my ship," I said quickly.  "Besides, it is the post of
danger--and of honour.  Think of Thursday night!"

"Do you honestly think you are essential to the success of a torpedo
attack?"

"Every officer will be required."

"My dear Belke, you didn't answer my question.  Are you _essential_?"'

"My dear Tiel," I replied firmly, for I was quite resolved I should not
remain cooped up in this infernal house, exposed to hourly risk of
being shot as a spy, while my ship was going into action, "I am sorry
to seem disobliging; but I am a naval officer, and my first duty is
quite clear to me."

"Pardon me for reminding you that you are at present under my orders,"
said he.

"While this affair is being arranged only."

"But I say that I have not yet finished my arrangements."

I saw that I was in something of a dilemma, for indeed it was difficult
to say exactly how my injunctions met the case.

"Well," I said, "I shall tell you what I shall do.  I shall put it to
my superior officer, Commander Wiedermann, and ask him whether he
desires me to absent myself any longer."

This was a happy inspiration, for I felt certain what Wiedermann would
say.

"Then I shall not know till to-morrow night whether to count on
you--and then I shall very probably lose you?"

I shrugged my shoulders, but said nothing.  Suddenly his face cleared.

"My dear fellow," he said, "I won't press you.  Rejoin your ship if you
think it your duty."

By mutual consent we changed the subject, and discussed the question of
submarines _versus_ surface ships, a subject in which Tiel showed both
interest and acumen, though I had naturally more knowledge, and could
contribute much from my own personal experience.  I must add that it is
a pleasure to discuss such matters with him, for he has a frank and
genuine respect for those who really understand what they are talking
about.

Towards evening I went back to my room, and fell to writing this
narrative again, but about ten o'clock I had another visit from Tiel;
and again he disconcerted me, though not so seriously this time.

"I had a message from Ashington, asking to see me," he explained, "and
I have just returned from a meeting with him.  He tells me that the
date of the fleet's sailing will probably be altered to Friday, but he
will let me know definitely to-morrow or Tuesday."

"Or Tuesday!" I exclaimed.  "Then I may have to stay here for another
night!"

"I'm sorry," said he, "but I'm afraid it can't be helped."

"But can we ever be sure that the fleet will keep to a programme?  I
have just been thinking it over, and the question struck me--why are
they making this arrangement so far ahead?"

"That struck me too," said Tiel, "and also Ashington.  But he has found
out now.  There is some big scheme on.  Some think it is Heligoland,
and some think the Baltic.  Anyhow, there is a definite programme, and
they will certainly keep to it.  The only uncertain thing is the actual
day of sailing."

"It is a plan which will be nicely upset if we get our torpedoes into
three or four of their super-dreadnoughts!" I exclaimed.

He nodded grimly.

"And for that, we want to have the timing exact" he said.  "Be patient,
my friend; we shall know by Tuesday morning at the latest."

I tried to be as philosophical as I could, but it was a dreary evening,
with the rain still beating on my window and another day's confinement
to look forward to.



V.

A MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURE.

Monday morning broke wet and windy, but with every sign of clearing up.
Tiel looked in for a very few minutes, but he was in his most
uncommunicative mood, and merely told me that he would have to be out
for the first part of the day, but would be back in the afternoon.  I
could not help suspecting that he was still a little sore over my
refusal to remain with him, and was paying me out by this display of
secrecy.  Such petty affronts to officers from those unfortunate enough
to be outside that class are not unknown.  I was of course above taking
offence, but I admit that it made me feel less anxious to consult his
wishes at every turn.

In this humour I wrote for a time, and at last got up and stared
impatiently out of the window.  It had become quite a fine day, and the
prospect of gazing for the greater part of it at a few acres of inland
landscape, with that fascinating spectacle to be seen from the front
windows, irritated me more and more.  And then, to add to my annoyance,
I heard "Boom!  Boom!  Boom!" crashing from the seaward side, and
shaking the very foundations of the house.  I began to feel
emphatically that it was my duty to watch the British fleet at gunnery
practice.

Just then two women appeared, walking slowly away from the house.  One
had an apron and no hat, and though I had only once caught a fleeting
glimpse of the back view of our servant, I made quite certain it was
she.  I watched them till they reached a farm about quarter of a mile
away, and turned into the house, and then I said to myself--

"There can be no danger now!"

And thereupon I unlocked my door, walked boldly downstairs, and went
into the front parlour.

I saw a vastly different scene from yesterday.  A fresh breeze rippled
the blue waters, patches of sunshine and cloud-shadow chased each other
over sea and land, and distinct and imposing in its hateful majesty lay
the British fleet.  A light cruiser of an interesting new type was
firing her 6-inch guns at a distant target, and for about five minutes
I thoroughly enjoyed myself.  And then I heard a sound.

I turned instantly, to see the door opening; and very hurriedly I
stepped back behind the nearest window curtain.  And then in came our
servant--_not_ the lady I had seen departing from the house, I need
scarcely say!  I was fully half exposed and I dared not make a movement
to draw the curtain round me; in fact, even if I had, my feet would
have remained perfectly visible.  All I could do was to stand as still
as a statue and pray that Heaven would blind her.

She walked in briskly, a middle-aged capable-looking woman, holding a
broom, and glanced all round the room in a purposeful way.  Among the
things she looked at was me, but to my utter astonishment she paid no
more attention than if I had been a piece of furniture.  For a moment I
thought she was blind; but her sharp glances clearly came from no
sightless eyes.  Then I wondered whether she could have such a horrible
squint that when she seemed to look at me she was really looking in
another direction.  But I could see no sign of a cast in those eyes
either.  And then she picked up an armful of small articles and walked
quickly out, leaving the door wide open.

What had saved me I had no idea, but I was resolved not to trust to
that curtain any longer.  In the middle of the room was a square table
of moderate size with a cloth over it.  Without stopping to think
twice, I dived under the cloth and crouched upon the floor.

The next instant in she came again, and I found that my table-cloth was
so scanty that I could follow her movements perfectly.  She took some
more things out, and then more again, and finally she proceeded to set
the furniture piece by piece back against the wall, till the table was
left lonely and horribly conspicuous in the middle of the floor.  And
then she began to sweep out that room.

There was small scope for an exhibition of resource, but I was as
resourceful as I was able.  I very gently pulled the scanty table-cloth
first in one direction and then in the other, according to the side of
the room she was sweeping, and as noiselessly as possible I crept a
foot or two farther away from her each time.  And all the while the
dust rose in clouds, and the hateful broom came so near me that it
sometimes brushed my boots.  And yet the extraordinary woman never
showed by a single sign that she had any suspicion of my presence!

At last when the whole floor had been swept--except of course under the
table--she paused, and from the glimpse I could get of her attitude she
seemed to be ruminating.  And then she stooped, lifted the edge of the
cloth, and said in an absolutely matter-of-fact voice--

"Will you not better get out till I'm through with my sweeping?"

Too utterly bewildered to speak, I crept out and rose to my feet.

"You can get under the table again when I'm finished," she observed as
she pulled off the cloth.

To such an observation there seemed no adequate reply, or at least I
could think of none.  I turned in silence and hurried back to my
bedroom.  And there I sat for a space too dumfounded for coherent
thought.

Gradually I began to recover my wits and ponder over this mysterious
affair, and a theory commenced to take shape.  Clearly she was insane,
or at least half-witted, and was quite incapable of drawing reasonable
conclusions.  And the more I thought it over, the more did several
circumstances seem to confirm this view.  My fire, for instance, with
its smoke coming out of the chimney, and the supply of peat and
firewood which Tiel or I were constantly bringing up.  Had she noticed
nothing of that?  Also Tiel's frequent ascents of this back staircase
to a part of the house supposed to be closed.  She must be half-witted.

And then I began to recall her brisk eye and capable air, and the idiot
theory resolved into space.  Only one alternative seemed left.  She
must be spying upon us, and aware of my presence all the time!  But if
so, what could I do?  I felt even more helpless than I did that first
night when my motor-cycle broke down.  I could only sit and wait,
revolver in hand.

When I heard Tiel's step at last on the stairs, I confess that my
nerves were not at their best.

"We are betrayed!" I exclaimed.

He stared at me very hard.

"What do you mean?" he asked quietly, and I am bound to say this of
Tiel, that there is something very reassuring in his calm voice.

I told him hurriedly.  He looked at me for a moment, began to smile,
and then checked himself.

"I owe you an apology, Belke," he said.  "I ought to have explained
that that woman is in my pay."

"In your pay?" I cried.  "And she has been so all the time?"

He nodded.

"And yet you never told me, but let me hide up in this room like a rat
in a hole?"

"The truth is," he replied, "that till I had got to know you pretty
well, I was afraid you might be rash--or at least careless, if you knew
that woman was one of us."

"So you treated me like an infant, Mr Tiel?"

"The life I have lived," said Tiel quietly, "has not been conducive to
creating a feeling of confidence in my fellowmen's discretion--until I
_know_ them.  I know you now, and I feel sorry I took this precaution.
Please accept my apologies."

"I accept your apology," I said stiffly; "but in future, Mr Tiel,
things will be pleasanter if you trust me."

He bowed slightly and said simply--

"I shall."

And then in a different voice he said--

"We have a visitor coming this afternoon to stay with us."

"To stay here!" I exclaimed.

"Another of _us_," he explained.

"Another--in these islands?  Who is he?"

As I spoke we heard a bell ring.

"Ah, here she is," said Tiel, going to the door.  "Come down and be
introduced whenever you like."

For a moment I stood stock still, lost in doubt and wonder.

"She!" I repeated to myself.



VI.

THE VISITOR.

My feelings as I approached the parlour were anything but happy.  Some
voice seemed to warn me that I was in the presence of something
sinister, that some unknown peril stalked at my elbow.  This third
party--this "she"--filled me with forebodings.  If ever anybody had a
presentiment, I had one, and all I can say now is that within thirty
seconds of opening the parlour door, I had ceased to believe in
presentiments, entirely and finally.  The vision I beheld nearly took
my breath away.

"Let me introduce you to my sister, Miss Burnett," said Tiel.  "She is
so devoted to her brother that she has insisted on coming to look after
him for the few days he is forced to spend in this lonely manse."

He said this with a smile, and of course never intended me to believe a
word of his statement, yet as he gave her no other name, and as that
was the only account of her circulated in the neighbourhood, I shall
simply refer to her in the meantime as Miss Burnett.  It is the only
name that I have to call her by to her face.

As to her appearance, I can only say that she is the most beautiful
woman I have ever met in my life.  The delicacy and distinction of her
features, her dark eyebrows, her entrancing eye, and her thoughtful
mouth, so firm and yet so sweet, her delicious figure and graceful
carriage--heavens, I have never seen any girl to approach her!  What is
more, she has a face which I _trust_.  I have had some experience of
women, and I could feel at the first exchange of glances and of words
that here was one of those rare women on whom a man could implicitly
rely.

"Have you just landed upon these islands?" I inquired.

"Not to-day," she said; and indeed, when I came to think of it, she
would not have had time to reach the house in that case.

"Did you have much difficulty?" I asked.

"The minister's sister is always admitted," said Tiel with his dry
smile.

I asked presently if she had travelled far.  She shrugged her
shoulders, gave a delightful little laugh, and said--

"We get so used to travelling that I have forgotten what 'far' is!"

Meanwhile tea was brought in, and Miss Burnett sat down and poured it
out with the graceful nonchalant air of a charming hostess in her own
drawing-room, while Tiel talked of the weather and referred carelessly
to the lastest news just like any gentleman who might have called
casually upon her.  I, on my part, tried as best I could to catch the
same air, and we all talked away very pleasantly indeed.  We spoke
English, of course, all the time, and indeed, any one overhearing us
and not seeing my uniform would never have dreamt for a moment that we
were anything but three devoted subjects of King George.

On the other hand, we were surely proceeding on the assumption that
nobody was behind a curtain or listening at the keyhole, and that being
so, I could not help feeling that the elaborate pretence of being a
mere party of ordinary acquaintances was a little unnecessary.  At last
I could not help saying something of what was in my mind.

"Is the war over?" I asked suddenly.

Both the others seemed surprised.

"I wish it were, Mr Belke!" said Miss Burnett with a sudden and moving
change to seriousness.

"Then if it is not, why are we pretending so religiously that we have
no business here but to drink tea, Miss Burnett?"

"I am not pretending; I am drinking it," she smiled.

"Yes, yes," I said, "but you know what I mean.  It seems to me so
un-German!"

They both looked at me rather hard.

"I'm afraid," said Miss Burnett, "that we of the secret service grow
terribly cosmopolitan.  Our habits are those of no country--or rather
of all countries."

"I had almost forgotten," said Tiel, "that I once thought and felt like
Mr Belke."  And then he added this singular opinion: "It is Germany's
greatest calamity--greater even than the coming in of Britain against
her, or the Battle of the Marne--that those who guide her destinies
have not forgotten it too."

"What do you mean?" I demanded, a little indignantly I must own.

"At every tea-party for many years Germany has talked about what
interested herself--and that was chiefly war.  At no tea-party has she
tried to learn the thoughts and interests of the other guests.  In
consequence she does not yet understand the forces against her, why
they act as they do, and how strong they are.  But her enemies
understand too well."

"You mean that she has been honest and they dishonest?"

"Yes," said Miss Burnett promptly and with a little smile, "my brother
means that in order really to deceive people one has to act as we are
acting now."

I laughed.

"But unfortunately now there is no one to deceive!"

She laughed too.

"But they might suddenly walk in!"

Tiel was not a frequent laugher, but he condescended to smile.

"Remember, Belke," he said, "I warned you on the first night we met
that you must not only talk but think in English.  If we don't do that
constantly and continually when no one is watching us, how can we count
on doing it constantly and continually when some one _may_ be watching
us?"

"Personally I should think it sufficient to wait till some one _was_
watching," I said.

"There speaks Germany," smiled Tiel.

"Germany disdains to act a part all the time!" I cried.

I confess I was nettled by his tone, but his charming "sister" disarmed
me instantly.

"Mr Belke means that he wants footlights and an orchestra and an
audience before he mutters 'Hush!  I hear her coming!'  He doesn't
believe in saying 'Hush!' in the corner of every railway carriage or
under his umbrella.  And I really think it makes him much less alarming
company!"

"You explain things very happily, Eileen," said Tiel.

I was watching her face (for which there was every excuse!) and I saw
that she started ever so slightly when he called her by her first name.
This pleased me--I must confess it.  It showed that they had not played
this farce of brother and sister together before, and already I had
begun to dislike a little the idea that they were old and intimate
confederates.  I also fancied that it showed she did not quite enjoy
the familiarity.  But she got her own back again instantly.

"It is my one desire to enlighten you, Alexander," she replied with a
very serious air.

I could not help laughing aloud, and I must confess that Tiel laughed
frankly too.

The next question that I remember our discussing was one of very
immediate and vital interest to us all.  It began with a remark by
Eileen (as I simply must call her behind her back; 'Miss Burnett'
smacks too much of Tiel's disguises--and besides it is too British).
We were talking of the English, and she said--

"Well, anyhow they are not a very suspicious people.  Look at this
little party!"

"Sometimes I feel that they are almost incredibly unsuspicious," I said
seriously.  "In Germany this house would surely be either visited or
watched!"

Tiel shook his head.

"In Kiel or Wilhelmshaven an English party could live just as
unmolested," he replied, "provided that not the least trace of
suspicion was aroused _at the outset_.  That is the whole secret of my
profession.  One takes advantages of the fact that even the most wary
and watchful men take the greater part of their surroundings for
granted.  The head of any War Office--German, French, English, or
whatever it may be--doesn't suddenly conceive a suspicion of one of his
clerks, unless something in the clerk's conduct calls his attention.
If, then, it were possible to enter the War Office, looking and
behaving exactly like one of the clerks, suspicion would not _begin_.
It is the beginning one has to guard against."

"Why don't you enter the British War Office, then?" asked Eileen with a
smile.

"Because, unfortunately, they know all the clerks intimately by sight.
In this case they expected a minister whom nobody knew.  The difficulty
of the passport with its photograph was got over by a little
ingenuity."  (He threw me a quick grim smile.)  "Thus I was able to
appear as a person fully expected, and as long as I don't do anything
inconsistent with the character, why should any one throw even so much
as an inquisitive glance in my direction.  Until suspicion _begins_, we
are as safe here as in the middle of Berlin.  Once it begins--well, it
will be a very different story."

"And you don't think my coming will rouse any suspicion?" asked Eileen,
with, for the first time (I fancied), a faint suggestion of anxiety.

"Suspicion?  Certainly not!  Just think.  Put yourself in the shoes of
the neighbours in the parish, or even of any naval officer who might
chance to learn you were here.  What is more natural than that the
minister who--at the request of the people--is staying a week longer
than he intended, should get his sister to look after him?  The
danger-point in both cases was passed when we got into the islands.  We
know that there was no suspicion roused in either case."

"How do you know?" I interposed.

"Another quality required for this work," replied Tiel with a detached
air, "is enough imagination to foresee the precautions that will be
required.  One wants to establish precaution behind precaution, just as
an army establishes a series of defensive positions.  In this case I
have got our good friend Ashington watching closely for the first
evidence of doubt or inquiry.  So that I _know_ that both my sister and
I passed the barrier without raising a question in anybody's mind."

"But how do you know that Ashington can be absolutely relied on?" I
persisted.

"Yes," put in Eileen, "I was wondering too."

"Because Ashington will certainly share my fate--whatever that may be,"
said Tiel grimly.  "He knows that; in fact he knows that I have
probably taken steps to ensure that happening, in case there might be
any loophole for him."

"But can't a man turn King's evidence (isn't that the term?) and get
pardoned?" asked Eileen.

"Not a naval officer," said Tiel.

"No," I agreed.  "I must say that for the British Navy.  An officer
would have no more chance of pardon in it than in our own navy."

"Well," smiled Eileen, "I feel relieved!  Don't you, Mr Belke?"

"Yes," I said, "I begin to understand the whole situation more clearly.
I pray that suspicion may not _begin_!"

"In that case," said Tiel, "you realise now, perhaps, why we have to
keep up acting, whether any one is watching us or not."

"Yes," I admitted, "I begin to see your reasons a little better.  But
why didn't you tell me all this before?"

"All what?"

"Well--about Ashington, for instance."

"I suppose," he said, "the truth is, Belke, that you have laid your
finger on another instance of people taking things for granted.  I
assumed you would realise these things.  It was my own fault."

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that the real reason was his
love of mystery and his Secret Service habit of distrusting people, but
I realised that Eileen had shown a little of the same evasiveness, and
I would not have her think that my criticism was directed against her.

Presently Tiel suggested that it would be wiser if I retired to my
room, and for a moment there was a sharp, though politely expressed
difference of opinion between us.  I argued very naturally that since
the servant was in our pay there was no danger to be apprehended within
the house, and that I was as safe in the parlour as anywhere.  In his
mystery-making, ultra-cautious way, he insisted that a visitor _might_
appear (he even suggested the police--though he had just previously
said they had no suspicion!) and that he was going to run no risks.
Eileen said a word on his side--though with a very kind look at me--and
I consented to go.  And then he requested me to stay there for the rest
of the evening!  Again Eileen saved a strained situation, and I said
farewell stiffly to him and very differently to her; in fact I made a
point of accentuating the difference.

I reached my room, lit a cigar, and for a time paced the floor in a
state of mind which I found hard to analyse.  I can only say that my
feelings were both mixed and strong, and that at last, to give me
relief, I sat down to write my narrative, and by nine o'clock in the
evening had brought it up nearly to this point.

By that time of course the curtains were drawn and my lamp was lit, and
as it was a windy chilly night, my fire was blazing brightly.  Higher
and higher rose the wind till it began to make a very heavy and
constant booming in the chimney, like distant salvoes of great guns.
Apart from the wind the old house was utterly quiet, and when the
wooden stair suddenly creaked I dropped my pen and sat up very sharply.
More and more distinctly I heard a firm but light tread coming up and
up, until at last it ceased on the landing.  And then came a gentle tap
upon my door.



VII.

AT NIGHT.

With a curious sense of excitement I crossed the room.  I opened the
door--and there stood Eileen.  She had taken off her hat, and without
it looked even more beautiful, for what hat could rival her masses of
dark hair so artfully arranged and yet with a rippling wave all through
them that utterly defied restraint?

"May I come in for a little?" she said.

She asked in such a friendly smiling way, so modest and yet so
unafraid, that even the greatest Don Juan could not have mistaken her
honest intention.

"I shall be more than charmed to have your company," I said.

"I'm afraid we soon forget the conventionalities in our service," she
said simply.  "Tiel has gone out, and I was getting very tired of my
own company."

"Imagine how tired I have got of mine!" I cried.

She gave a little understanding nod.

"It must be dreadfully dull for you," she agreed with great
sincerity--and she added, as she seated herself in my wicker chair, "I
have another excuse for calling on you, and that is, that the more
clearly we all three understand what we are doing, the better.  Don't
you think so?"

"Decidedly!  In fact I only wish we all thought the same."

She looked at me inquiringly, and yet as though she comprehended quite
well.

"You mean----?"

"Well, to be quite frank, I mean Tiel.  He is very clever, and he knows
his work.  Mein Gott, we can teach him nothing!  And perhaps he trusts
you implicitly and is quite candid.  But he certainly tells me no more
than he can help."

"He tells nobody more than he can help," she said.  "You are no worse
treated than any one else he works with.  But it is a little annoying
sometimes."

"For instance, do you know what he is doing to-night?" I asked.

There was no mistaking the criticism in the little shrug with which she
replied--

"I half suspect he is walking about in the dark by himself just to make
me think he is busy on some mysterious affair!"

"Do you actually mean that?" I exclaimed.

"No, no," she said hastily, "not really quite that!  But he sometimes
tempts one to say these things."

"Have you worked with him often before?"

"Enough to know his little peculiarities." She smiled suddenly.  "Oh,
he is a very wonderful man, is my dear brother!"

Again I was delighted (I confess it shamelessly!) to hear that
unmistakable note of criticism.

"'Wonderful' may have several meanings," I suggested.

"It has in his case," she said frankly.  "He really is extraordinarily
clever."

She added nothing more, but the implication was very clear that the
other meanings were not quite so flattering.  I felt already that this
strange little household was divided into two camps, and that Eileen
and I were together in one.

"But we have talked enough about Herr Tiel!" she exclaimed in a
different voice.  "Because we really can get no further.  It is like
discussing what is inside a locked box!  We can trust his judgment in
this business; I think you will agree to that."

"Oh yes," I said, "I have seen enough to respect his abilities very
thoroughly."

"Then," said she, "let us talk of something more amusing."

"Yourself," I said frankly, though perhaps a little too boldly, for she
did not respond immediately.  I felt that I had better proceed more
diplomatically.

"I was wondering whether you were a pure German," I added.

"My feelings towards Germany are as strong as yours, Mr Belke," she
answered.  "Indeed I don't think any one can be more loyal to their
country than I am, but I am not purely German by blood.  My mother was
Irish, hence my name--Eileen."

"Then that is your real name?" I cried, between surprise and delight.

"Yes, that is the one genuine thing about me," she smiled.

"But if you are half English----"

"Irish," she corrected.

"Ah!" I cried.  "I see--of course!  I was going to ask whether your
sympathies were not at all divided.  But Irish is very different.  Then
you hate the English with a double hatred?"

"With one or two exceptions--friends I have made--I abhor the whole
race I am fighting against quite as much as you could possibly wish me
to!  Indeed, I wish it were fighting and not merely plotting!"

There was an earnestness and intensity in her voice and a kindling of
her eye as she said this that thrilled and inspired me like a trumpet.

"We shall defeat them--never fear!" I cried.  "We shall trample on the
pride of England.  It will be hard to do, but I have no doubt as to the
result; have you?"

"None," she said, quietly but with absolute confidence.

Then that quick smile of hers, a little grave but very charming, broke
over her face.

"But let us get away for a little from war," she said.  "You aren't
smoking.  Please do, if you wish to."

I lit a cigarette, and offered one to her, but she said she did not
smoke.  And I liked her all the better.  We talked more lightly for a
while, or perhaps I should rather say less earnestly, for our situation
did not lend itself to frivolity.  It did lend itself however to
romance,--we two sitting on either side of the peat fire, with a shaded
lamp and the friendly flames throwing odd lights and shadows through
the low, primitive room with its sloping attic-like walls and its
scanty furniture; and the wind all the while tempestuously booming in
the chimney and scouring land and sea.  And neither on land nor sea was
there a single friend; surrounded by enemies who would have given a
heavy price to have learned who sat in that room, we talked of many
things.

At last, all too soon, she rose and wished me good-night.  A demon of
perversity seized me.

"I shall escort you down to Mr Tiel, and the devil take his
precautions!" I exclaimed.

"Oh no," she protested.  "After all he is in command."

She really seemed quite concerned at my intention, but I can be very
obstinate when I choose.

"Tuts!" I said.  "It is sheer rubbish to pretend that there is any risk
at this time of night.  Probably he is still out, and anyhow he will
not have visitors at this hour."

She looked at me very hard and quickly as if to see if I were possible
to argue with, and then she gave a little laugh and merely said--

"You are terribly wilful, Mr Belke!"

And she ran downstairs very quickly, as though to run away from me.  I
followed fast, but she was some paces ahead of me as we went down the
dark passage to the front of the house.  And then suddenly I heard
guarded voices, and stopped dead.

There was a bend in the passage just before it reached the hall, and
Eileen had passed this while I had not, and so I could see nothing
ahead.  Then I heard the voice of Tiel say--

"Well?"

It was a simple word of little significance, but the voice in which it
was said filled me with a very unpleasant sensation.  The man spoke in
such a familiar, confidential way that I suddenly felt I could have
shot him cheerfully.  For the instant I forgot the problem of the other
voice I had heard.

"Mr Belke is with me!  He insisted," she cried.

At this I knew that the unknown voice could not belong to an enemy, and
I advanced again.  As I passed the bend in the passage I was just in
time to see Tiel closing the front door behind a man in a long dark
coat with a gleam of brass buttons, and to hear him say,

"Good-night, Ashington."

Eileen passed into the parlour with a smiling glance for me to follow,
and Tiel came in after us.  I was not in the most pleasant temper.  In
fact, for some reason I was in a very black humour.

"I thought you had gone out," I said to him at once.

"I did go out."

"But now I understand that the worthy Captain Ashington has been
visiting you here!"

"Both these remarkable events have occurred," said Tiel drily.

When I recalled how long Eileen had been up in my room, I realised that
this was quite possible, but this did not, for some reason, soothe me.

"Why did he come?" I asked.

"The fleet is going out on Friday."

"Aha!" I exclaimed, forgetting my annoyance for the moment.

"So that is settled at last," said Tiel with a satisfied smile.

He happened to turn his smile on Eileen also, and my annoyance returned.

"You dismissed our dear friend Ashington very quickly when you heard me
coming," I remarked in no very amiable tone.

Tiel looked at me gravely.

"Belke," he said, "you might quite well have done serious mischief by
showing your dislike for Ashington so palpably the other day.  Even a
man of that sort has feelings.  I have soothed them, I am glad to say,
but he was not very anxious to meet you again."

"So much the better!" said I.  "Traitors are not the usual company a
German officer keeps."

"Many of us have to mix with strange company nowadays, Mr Belke," said
Eileen.

Her sparkling eye and her grave smile disarmed me instantly.  I felt
suddenly conscious I was not playing a very judicious part, or showing
myself perhaps to great advantage.  So I bade them both good-night and
returned to my room.

But it was not to go to bed.  For two mortal hours I paced my floor,
and thought and thought, but not about any problem of the war.  I kept
hearing Tiel's "Well," spoken in that hatefully intimate way, and then
remembering that those two were alone--all night!--in the front part of
the house, far out of sound or reach of me.  I did not doubt Eileen for
an instant, but that calm, cool, cosmopolitan adventurer, who could
knock an unsuspecting clergyman on the head and throw him over a cliff,
and then tell the story with a smile,--what was he not capable of?

Again and again I asked myself why it concerned me.  This was a girl I
had only known for hours.  But her smile was the last thing I saw
before I fell asleep at length about three o'clock in the morning.



VIII.

THE DECISION.

In the morning I came down to breakfast without asking anybody's leave,
and I looked at those two very hard.  To see Eileen fresh and calm and
smiling gave me the most intense relief, while, as for Tiel, he looked
as cool and imperturbable as he always did--and I cannot put it
stronger than that, for nothing more cool and imperturbable than Tiel
ever breathed.  In fact it could not have breathed, for it would have
had to be a graven image.

He looked at me critically, but all he said was--

"If it wasn't too wet for your nice uniform, Belke, we might have had
breakfast on the lawn."

"You are afraid some one may come and look in at this window?" I asked.

"On the whole there is rather more risk of that than of some one
climbing up to look in at your bedroom window," said he.

"You think a great deal of risks," I observed.

"Yes," said he.  "I am a nervous man."

Eileen laughed merrily, and I could not but confess that for once he
had scored.  I resolved not to give him the chance again.  He then
proceeded to draw the table towards one end of the room, pulled the
nearest curtain part way across, and then locked the front door.  But I
made no comments this time.

At breakfast Eileen acted as hostess, and so charming and natural was
she that the little cloud seemed to blow over, and we all three
discussed our coming plan of attack on the fleet fully and quite
freely.  Tiel made several suggestions, which he said he had been
discussing with Ashington, and, as they seemed extremely sound, I made
notes of them and promised to lay them before Wiedermann.

When we had finished and had a smoke, Tiel rose and said he must go out
"on parish business."  I asked him what he meant, and learned to my
amusement that in his capacity of the Rev. Alexander Burnett he had to
attend a meeting of what he called the "kirk-session."  We both
laughed, and wished him good luck, and then before he left he said--

"You had better get back to your room, Belke.  Remember we are here on
_business_."

And with that he put on his black felt hat, and bade us lock the front
door after him, and if anybody called, explain that it was to keep the
wind from shaking it.  I must say he thought of these small points very
thoroughly.

The suggestion in his last words that I was placing something else
before my duty stung me a little.  I was not going to let Tiel see that
they had any effect, but as soon as he had gone I rose and said to
Eileen--

"It is quite clear that I ought to return to my room.  I have notes to
write up, and several things to do before to-night."

"Then you are really going to leave us to-night?" said she; "I am very
sorry."

So was I.  Indeed, the thought of leaving her--probably for ever--would
have been bitter enough in any case, but to leave her alone with Tiel
was maddening.  It had troubled me greatly last night, yet the thought
of remaining was one I did not really care to face.

"I fear I must," I replied, in a voice which must have revealed
something of what I felt.

"Tiel told me you absolutely refused to listen to him when he wished
you to remain."

"Oh no!" I cried.  "That is putting it far too strongly.  I offered to
put the case to Commander Wiedermann, and then Tiel at once assumed I
was going to leave him, and told me to say no more about it."

"Really!  That is somewhat extraordinary!" she exclaimed in rather a
low voice, as though she were much struck with this.  She had been
standing, and she sat as she spoke.  I felt that she wished to go
further into this matter, and I sat down again too.

"What is extraordinary about it?" I asked.

"Do you mean to say that Tiel didn't press you?"

"No," I said.

"Mr Belke," she said earnestly, "I know enough of the orders under
which we are acting and the plans that Tiel has got to further, to be
quite certain that you were intended to stay and assist him.  It is
_most_ important."

"You are quite sure of this?"

"Absolutely."

"Then why did Tiel give up trying to persuade me so readily?  Why
didn't he try to use more authority?"

"I wonder," she said in a musing tone, and yet I could see from her eye
that she had an idea.

"You know!" I exclaimed.  "Tell me what is in your mind!"

Already I guessed, but I dared not put it into words.

"It is difficult to guess Tiel's motives--exactly," she said rather
slowly.

I felt I had to say it outright.

"Are you his motive?" I demanded.

She looked at me quickly, but quite candidly.

"I scarcely like to say--or even think such a thing, but----"

She broke off, and I finished her sentence for her.

"But you know he admires you, and is not the man to stick at anything
in order to get what he wants."

"Ah!  Don't be unjust to him," she answered; and then in a different
voice added, "But to think of his letting you go like that!"

"So it was to get rid of me, and have you alone here with him?"

"He must have had some motive," she admitted, "for you _ought_ to stay."

"I shall stay!" I said.

She gave me her brightest smile.

"Really?  Oh, how good of you!  Or rather--how brave of you, for it is
certainly running a risk."

If I had been decided before, I was doubly decided now.

"It is not the German navy's way to fear risks," I said.  "It is my
duty to stay--for two reasons--and I am going to stay!"

"And Commander Wiedermann?"

"I shall simply tell him I am under higher orders, given me by Herr
Tiel."

"If you added that there is a second plan directed against the British
navy, and that you are needed to advise on the details, it might help
to convince Commander Wiedermann how essential your presence here is,"
she suggested.

"Yes," I agreed, "it would be well to mention that."

"Also," she said, "you would require to have all the details of this
first plan so fully written out that he would not need to keep you to
explain anything."

"You think of everything!" I cried with an admiration I made no
pretence of concealing.  "I shall go now and set to work."

"Do!" she cried, "and when Tiel comes in I shall tell him you are going
to stay.  I wonder what he will say!"

"I wonder too," said I.  "But do you care what he says?"

"No," she replied, "because of course he won't say it.  He will only
think."

"Let him think!" I laughed.

I went back to my room in a strange state of exhilaration for a man who
had just decided to forgo the thing he had most looked forward to, and
run a horrible risk instead.  For I felt in my bones that uniform or no
uniform I should be shot if I were caught.  I put little trust in
English justice or clemency.  But, as I said before, when I am
obstinate, I am very obstinate; and I was firmly resolved that if
Wiedermann wanted me back on board to-night, he would have to call a
guard and carry me!  However, acting on Eileen's suggestions, I had
little doubt I should convince him.  And thereupon I set to work on my
notes.  By evening I had everything so fully written out and so clearly
explained that I felt I could say with a clear conscience that even my
own presence at a council of war could add no further information.

In the course of the day I had a talk with Tiel, and, just as Eileen
had anticipated, he left one to guess at what was in his mind.  He
certainly professed to be glad I had changed my mind, and he thanked me
with every appearance of cordiality.

"Your are doing the right thing, Belke," he said.  "And, let me tell
you, I appreciate your courage."

There was a ring of evident sincerity in his voice as he said this, and
whatever I might think of the man's moral character, a compliment from
Tiel on one's courage was not a thing to despise.

In the late afternoon he set out to obtain a motor-car for the
evening's expedition, but through what ingenious machinery of lies he
got it, I was too busy to inquire.

Finally, about ten o'clock at night we sat down to a little supper, my
pockets bulging with my notes, and my cyclist's overalls lying ready to
be donned once more.



IX.

ON THE SHORE.

Soon after eleven o'clock two dark figures slipped unostentatiously out
of the back door, and a moment later a third followed them.  My heart
leapt with joy and surprise at the sight of it, and Tiel stopped and
turned.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"I'm coming too," said Eileen.

"Why?" he demanded in that tone of his which seemed to call upon the
questioned to answer with exceeding accuracy.

"Because I'd like a drive," she answered, with a woman's confidence
that her reason is good enough for anybody.

"As you please," he said, drily and with unfathomable calm; and then he
turned again, and in a voice that betrayed his interest in her, asked,
"What have you got on?"

"Quite enough, thank you."

"You are sure?  I've lent my spare coat to Belke, but I can get another
rug."

"I am quite sure," she smiled.

More than ever I felt glad I was staying beside her.

Tiel sat in front and drove, and Eileen and I got in behind.  He
offered no objections to this arrangement, though as she seated herself
while he was starting the engine, he was certainly not given much
choice.  And then with a deep purr we rolled off into the night.

There would be no moon till getting on towards morning, but the rain
had luckily ceased and the wind fallen, and overhead the stars were
everywhere breaking through the last wisps of cloud.  Already they gave
light enough to distinguish sea from land quite plainly, and very soon
they faintly lit the whole wide treeless countryside.  The car was a
good one, however Tiel had come by it, and the engine was pulling well,
and we swept along the lonely roads at a great pace, one bare telegraph
post after another flitting swiftly out of the gloom ahead into the
gloom behind, and the night air rushing against our faces.  At first I
looked round me and recognised some features of the way we had come,
the steep hill, and the sound that led to the western ocean, and the
dark mass of hills beyond, but very soon my thoughts and my eyes alike
had ceased to wander out of the car.

We said little, just enough to serve as an excuse for my looking
constantly at her profile, and, the longer I looked, admiring the more
every line and every curve.  All at once she leaned towards me and said
in a low beseeching voice--

"You will come back, won't you?"

"I swear it!" I answered fervently, and to give force to my oath I
gently took her hand and pressed it.  If it did not return the
pressure, it at least did not shrink from my clasp.  And for the rest
of the way I sat holding it.

Presently I in turn leaned towards her and whispered--

"One thing I have been wondering.  Should I take Tiel with me to see
Wiedermann?  It might perhaps be expected."

"No!" she replied emphatically.

"You feel sure?"

For reply she very gently pressed my hand at last.  So confident did I
feel of her sure judgment that I considered that question settled.

"By the way," she said in a moment, "I think perhaps it might be
advisable to say nothing to Commander Wiedermann about me.  It is quite
unnecessary, and he--well, some men are always suspicious if they think
there is a woman in the case.  Of course I admit they sometimes have
enough excuse, but--what do you think?"

"I agree with you entirely," I said emphatically.

I know Wiedermann very intimately, and had been divided in mind whether
I should drop a little hint that there were consolations, or whether I
had better not.  Now I saw quite clearly I had better not.

"What's that?" said Eileen in a moment.

It was a tall gaunt monolith close to the roadside, and then, looking
round, I saw a loch on the other side, and remembered the spot with a
start.  It was close by here that my cycle had broken down, and we were
almost at the end of our drive.  Round the corner we swung, straight
for the sea, until we stopped where the road ended at the edge of the
links.

I gave Eileen's hand one last swift pressure, and jumped out.

"We shall wait for you here," said Tiel in a low voice, "but don't be
longer than you can help.  Remember my nerves!"

He spoke so cheerily and genially, that for the moment I liked him
again.  In fact, if it had not been for Eileen, and his love of
mystery, there was much that was very attractive in Tiel.  As I set out
on my solitary walk down to the shore, I suddenly wondered what made
him so cheerful and bright at this particular moment, for it did not
strike me as an exhilarating occasion.  And then I was reminded of the
man I had known most like Tiel, a captain I once served under, who was
silence and calmness itself at most times, but grew strangely genial on
critical occasions--a heaven-sent gift.  But from Tiel's point of view,
what was critical about this moment?  The risk he ran at this hour in
such an isolated spot was almost negligible, and as to the other
circumstances, did it matter much to him whether I stayed or changed my
mind and went away?  I could scarcely believe it.

I kept along by the side of the sandy track, just as I had done before,
only this time I did not lose it.  The rolling hummocky links were a
little darker, but the stars shone in myriads, bright and clear as a
winter's night, and I could see my way well enough.  As I advanced, I
smelt the same pungent seaweed odour, and heard the same gulls crying,
disturbed (I hoped) by the same monster in the waters.  Fortunately the
storm had blown from the south-east, and the sea in this
westward-facing bay heaved quietly, reflecting the radiance of the
stars.  It was another perfect night for our purpose.

I reached the shore and turned to the left along the rising
circumference of the bay, looking hard into the night as I went.
Something dark lay on the water, I felt certain of it, and presently
something else dark and upright loomed ahead.  A moment later I had
grasped Wiedermann by the hand.  He spoke but a word of cordial
greeting, and then turned to descend to the boat.

"We'll get aboard before we talk," said he.

The difficult moment had come.  Frankly, I had dreaded it a little, but
it had to be faced and got over.

"I am not coming aboard to-night, sir," I replied.

He turned and stared at me.

"Haven't you settled anything?" he demanded.

"Something," I said, "but there is more to be done."

I told him then concisely and clearly what we had arranged, and handed
him the chart and all my notes.  That he was honestly delighted with my
news, and satisfied with my own performance, there could be no doubt.
He shook me warmly by the hand and said--

"Splendid, Belke!  I knew we could count on you!  It's lucky you have a
chest broad enough to hold all your decorations!  For you will get
them--never doubt it.  But what is all this about staying on shore?
What else are you needed for?  And who the devil has given you such
orders?"

"Herr Tiel," I said.  "I was placed under his orders, as you will
remember, sir."

"But what does he want you for?  And how long does he imagine the
British are going to let you stay in this house of yours unsuspected?
They are not idiots!  It seems to me you have been extraordinarily
lucky to have escaped detection so far.  Surely you are not going to
risk a longer stay?"

"If it is my duty I must run the risk."

"But is it your duty?  I am just wondering, Belke, whether I can spare
you, with this attack coming on, and whether I ought to override Herr
Tiel's orders and damn the consequences!"

I knew his independence and resolution, but just at that moment there
passed before my mind's eye such a distinct, sweet picture of Eileen,
that I was filled with a resolution and independence even greater than
his.

"If it were not my duty, sir," I said firmly, "clearly and strongly
pointed out by Herr Tiel, I should never dream of asking you to spare
me for a little longer."

"He was then very clear and strong on the question?"

"Extremely."

"And this other scheme of his--do you feel yourself that it is feasible
enough to justify you in leaving your ship and running such a terrible
risk?  Remember, you will be a man lost to Germany!"

I have put down exactly what he said, though it convicts me of having
departed a little from the truth when I answered--

"Yes, it will justify the risk."

After all, I had confidence enough in Tiel's abilities to feel sure
that I was really justified in saying this; but I determined to press
him for some details of his plans to-morrow.

Wiedermann stood silent for a moment; then he held out his hand and
said in a sad voice--

"Good-bye!  But my mind misgives me.  I fear we may never meet again."

"That is nonsense, sir!" I cried as cheerfully as I could.  "We shall
meet again very soon.  And if you wish something to cheer you, just
study those plans!"

And so we parted, he descending the bank without another word, and I
setting out along the path that by now was beginning to feel quite
familiar.  I did not even pause to look back this time.  My boats were
burnt and I felt it was better to hurry on without dwelling longer on
the parting.  Besides, there was a meeting awaiting me.

When I reached the end of the road, I found that Tiel had been spending
the time in turning the car, and now he and Eileen stood beside it, but
apparently not conversing.

"All right?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.  "I met Wiedermann and gave him all the plans."

He merely nodded and went to start the engine.  Again I was forcibly
reminded of my old captain, and the way in which he became calmer and
more silent than ever the moment the crisis was passed.  But surely
this crisis had been mine and not his!  Anyhow, I felt a singularly
strong sense of reaction and seated myself beside Eileen without a
word.  We had gone for a little way on our homeward road before either
of us spoke, and then it was to exchange some quite ordinary remark.  I
put out my hand gently, but hers was nowhere to be found, and this
increased my depression.  I fell very silent, and then suddenly, when
we were nearly back, I exclaimed--

"I wonder whether you are really glad that I returned?"

"Very!" she said, and there was such deep sincerity in her voice that
the cloud began to lift at once.

Yet I was not in high spirits when I re-entered my familiar room.



PART IV.

LIEUTENANT VON BELKE'S NARRATIVE CONCLUDED



I.

WEDNESDAY.

I woke on Wednesday morning with an outlook so changed that I felt as
if some magician must have altered my nature.  Theoretically I had
taken a momentous and dangerous decision at the call of duty, and all
my energies ought to have concentrated on the task of carrying it
through safely, thoroughly, and warily.  I had need of more caution
than ever, and of the most constant vigilance--both for the sake of my
skin and my country.  As a matter of fact I was possessed with the
recklessness of a man drifting on a plank down a rapid, where taking
thought will not serve him an iota.  In vain I preached theoretical
caution to myself--exactly how vainly may be judged by my first
performance in the morning when I found myself alone with Eileen in the
parlour.  She suggested that for my own sake I had better be getting
back to my room.

"Will you come and sit there with me?" I asked.

"I may pay a call upon you perhaps."

"After hours of loneliness!  And then leave me lonelier than ever!  No,
thank you, I shall stay down here."

"In your uniform?" she asked, opening her eyes a little.  "No, no, Mr
Belke!"

"Well then, get me a suit of mufti!"

She looked at me hard.

"You will really run that risk?"

"It is now worth it," I said with meaning.

She looked away, and for a moment I thought she was pained--not
displeased, I am sure, but as if something had given her a pang of
sorrow.  Then the look passed, and she cried--

"Well, if Tiel agrees!"

"Tiel be hanged!  I don't care what he says!"

She began to smile.

"Do you propose to wear my clothes?" she inquired.

"Yours!" I exclaimed.

"Otherwise," she continued, "you must persuade Tiel to agree, for it is
only he who can provide you with a suit of mufti."

Presently Tiel came in and I put the demand to him at once.  He looked
a little surprised, but, somewhat to my surprise, raised no serious
objections.  His motives are hard to fathom, but I cannot help
suspecting that despite his air of self-confidence and authority, he
has an instinctive respect for an officer and acknowledges in his heart
that I am really his superior.

"You mustn't go outside the house, of course," he said, "and if by any
evil chance any visitor were to come in unexpectedly, you must have
some kind of a story ready."

"Have you had many visitors yet?" I asked with a touch of sarcasm.

"You never know your luck," said he, "and I believe in guarding against
all chances.  If you are surprised, please remember that your name is
Mr Wilson."

"Wilson?" I said with some disgust.  "Am I named in honour of that
swine in America?"

"You are named Wilson," said he, "because it is very like Watson and
Williams and several other common names.  The less conspicuous and more
easily forgotten a name one takes, the better."

There is no doubt about the thoroughness of the man and the cunning
with which he lays even the smallest plans, and though I was a little
contemptuous of his finesse at the moment, I must confess I was
thankful enough for it not so very long afterwards.

"As for your business," added Tiel, "you are a Government inspector."

"Of what?" I asked.

"If you are asked, look deep and say nothing," said he.  "The islands
are full of people on what they call in the Navy 'hush' jobs."

"You seem pretty intimately acquainted with the British Navy down to
its slang," I observed.

My nerves were perhaps a little strained this morning, and I meant by
this to make a sarcastic allusion to the kind of blackguards he dealt
with--such as Ashington.  I glanced at Eileen as I spoke, and I was
surprised to see a sudden look, almost of alarm, in her eye.  It was
turned on Tiel, but he appeared absolutely indifferent.  I presumed she
feared he might take offence and make a row, but she need not have
worried.  It would take a very pointed insult to rouse that calculating
machine.

"Can you get a suit of mufti for me?" I inquired.

"I'll look one out presently," said he.

"I presume you keep a few disguises!" I added.

"A few," said he with one of his brief smiles.  "You had better go up
to your room in the meantime, and I'll bring it to you."

I fumed at the idea of any delay, and as I went to the door I said--

"Don't be long about it, please!"

More and more the thought of leaving those two alone together, even for
a short while, filled me with angry uneasiness, and I paced my bedroom
floor impatiently enough.  Judge then of my relief and delight when
within a few minutes Eileen knocked at my door and said--

"I have come to pay you a morning call if I may."

I began to wish then that Herr Tiel would spend an hour or two in
looking out clothes for me, and as a matter of fact he did.  Eileen
explained that he had said he must do some errand in his capacity as
parish minister, but what the mystery-monger was really about, Heaven
knows!

"Now," said I to Eileen, when we were seated and I had lit a cigarette,
"I want to ask you something about this new scheme that we three are
embarked upon."

She began to shake her head at once.

"I am very much in the dark," said she.  "Tiel tells me as little as he
tells you."

"You must surely know one thing.  What is your own part in it?  Why
were you brought into the islands?  Such risks are not run for nothing."

"What is a woman's part in such a plan usually?" she asked in a quiet
voice.

I was a little taken aback.  It was not exactly pleasant to think
of--in connection with Eileen.

"I believe they sometimes act as decoys," I said bluntly.

She merely nodded.

"Then that is your _rôle_?"

"I presume so," she said frankly.

"Who are you going to decoy?" I asked, and I felt that my voice was
harsh.

"Ask Herr Tiel," she answered.

"Not that gross brute Ashington surely!"

She shook her head emphatically, and I felt a little relieved.

"You have seen for yourself that he needs no further decoying," she
said.

"Then it must be some even higher game you're to be flown at."

"I wonder!" she said, and smiled a little.

I hated to see her smile.

"I don't like to think of you doing this," I exclaimed suddenly.

"Not even for Germany?" she asked.

I was silenced, but my blood continued to boil at the thought of what
might not be asked of her.

"Would you go to any lengths," I asked abruptly.

"For my country I would, to any lengths!" she answered proudly.

Again I felt rebuked, yet still more savage at the thought.

"You would even become some British Admiral's mistress?" I asked in a
low voice.

Her colour suddenly rose, and for an instant she seemed to start.  Then
in rather a cool voice she said--

"Perhaps we are thinking of rather different things."

And with that she changed the subject, nor could I induce her to return
to it.  I admit frankly I was a little puzzled.  Her reception of my
question, perfectly honestly put, had been curiously unlike the candour
I should have expected in a girl of her strange profession, especially
considering her defiance of all conventionalities in living alone here
with two men, and sitting at this moment in the room of one of them.  I
respected her the more for her hint of affronted dignity.  Yet I
confess I felt bewildered.

How long we had talked I know not, when at last Tiel appeared, bringing
a very presentable tweed suit, and then they both left me, and I did
the one thing I had so firmly resolved not to do.  I discarded my
uniform with what protection it gave me, and made myself liable to be
shot without question or doubt.  Yet my only feeling was gladness that
I need no longer stay cooped up in my room while those two spent their
hours together downstairs.

That afternoon, when we were all three together, I asked Tiel for some
definite information regarding his scheme, and we had a long, and I
must say a very interesting, talk.  The details of this plan it would
scarcely be safe to put down on paper at present.  Or rather, I should
say, the outline of it, for we have scarcely reached the stage of
details yet.  It is a bold scheme, as was only to be expected of Tiel,
and necessitated going very thoroughly into the relative naval
strengths of Germany and Britain, so that most of the time for the rest
of the day was taken up with a discussion of facts and figures.  And
through it all Eileen sat listening.  I wonder if such a talk ever
before had such a charming background?

Now at last I am in my room, writing this narrative up to this very
point.  It is long past midnight, but sleep is keeping very far away
from me.  The weather has changed to a steady drizzle of rain.
Outside, the night is black as pitch, and mild and windless.  It may
partly be this close damp air that drives sleep away, but I know it is
something else as well.

I am actually wondering if I can marry her!  She must surrender; that
is certain, for I have willed it, and what a German wills with all his
soul takes place.  It must!  As to her heart, I feel sure that her
kindness means what a woman's kindness always means--that a man has
only to persevere.  But marriage?

I shall never meet another woman like her; that is certain!  Yet an
adventuress, a paid agent of the Secret Service, marrying a von
Belke--is it quite conceivable?  On the whole I think _no_.  But we can
be very happy without that!  I never loved a woman so much before--that
is my last word for the night!



II.

THURSDAY.

_Friday morning_ (_very early_).--The events of yesterday and last
night have left me with more to think about than I seem to have wits to
think with.  Mein Gott, if I could see daylight through everything!
What is ahead, Heaven knows, but here is what is behind.

Yesterday morning passed as the afternoon before had passed, in further
discussion of naval statistics with Tiel--with a background of Eileen.
Then we had lunch, and soon afterwards Tiel put on an oilskin coat and
went out.  A thin fine drizzle still filled the air, drifting in clouds
before a rising wind and blotting out the view of the sea almost
completely.  Behind it the ships were doing we knew not what; certainly
they were not firing, but we could see nothing of them at all.

A little later Eileen insisted on putting on a waterproof and going out
too.  As the minister's sister she had to visit a farm, she said.  I
believed her, of course, though I had ceased to pay much attention to
Tiel's statements as to his movements.  I knew that he knew his own
business thoroughly, and I had ceased to mind if he had not the
courtesy to take me into his confidence.  After all, if I come safely
out of this business, I am not likely to meet such as Tiel again!

Left to myself, I picked up a book and had been reading for about a
quarter of an hour when I was conscious of a shadow crossing the window
and heard a step on the gravel.  Never doubting that it was either
Eileen or Tiel, I still sat reading until I was roused by the sound of
voices in the hall, just outside the parlour door.  One I recognised as
our servant's, the other was a stranger's.  I dropped my book and
started hastily to my feet, and as I did so I heard the stranger say--

"I tell you I recognise her coat.  My good woman, d'ye think I'm blind?
I'm coming in to wait for her, I tell you."

The door opened, and a very large stout gentleman appeared, talking
over his shoulder as he entered.

"When Miss Holland comes in, tell her Mr Craigie is waiting to see
her," said he; and with that he closed the door and became aware of my
presence.

For a moment we looked at one another.  My visitor, I saw, had a grey
beard, a large rosy face, and twinkling blue eyes.  He looked harmless
enough, but I eyed him very warily, as you can readily believe.

"It's an awful wet day," said he in a most friendly and affable tone.

I agreed that it was detestable.

"It's fine for the crops all the same.  The oats is looking very well;
do you not think so?"

I perceived that my friend was an agriculturist, and endeavoured to
humour him.

"They are looking splendid!" I said with enthusiasm.

He sat down, and we exchanged a few more remarks on the weather and the
crops, in the course of which he had filled and lit a pipe and made
himself entirely at home.

"Are you staying with the minister?" he inquired presently.

"I am visiting him," I replied evasively,

"I understand Miss Holland's here too," said he, with an extra twinkle
in his eye.

I knew, of course, that he must mean Eileen, and I must confess that I
was devoured with curiosity.

"She is," I said.  "Do you know her?"

"Know her?  She was my governess!  Has she not told you the joke of how
she left me in the lurch?"

It flashed across my mind that it might seem odd if I were to admit
that "Miss Holland" had said nothing about this mysterious adventure.

"Oh yes, she has told us all about it," I replied with assurance.

Mr Craigie laughed heartily at what was evidently a highly humorous
recollection.

"I was as near being annoyed at the time as I ever was in my life,"
said he.  "But, man, I've had some proper laughs over it since."

He suddenly grew a trifle graver.

"Mrs Craigie isn't laughing, though.  Between ourselves, it's she
that's sent me on this errand to-day."

He winked and nodded and relit his pipe, while I endeavoured to see a
little light through the extraordinary confusion of ideas which his
remarks had caused in my mind.

"Miss Holland came up to the islands as your governess, I understand,"
I said in as matter-of-fact tone as I could compass.

"We got her through a Mrs Armitage in Kensington," said Mr Craigie.
"It seemed all right--and mind you, I'm not saying it isn't all right
now!  Only between you and me, Mr----?"

"Wilson," I said promptly, breathing my thanks to Tiel at the same time.

"You'll be a relation of the minister's too, perhaps?"

"I am on government business," I replied in a suitable tone of grave
mystery.

"Damn it, Mr Wilson," exclaimed my friend with surprising energy,
"every one in the country seems to be on government business
nowadays--except myself!  And I've got to pay their salaries!  We're
asked in the catechism what's our business in this weary world, and
damn it, I can answer that conundrum now!  It's just to pay government
officials their wages, and build a dozen or two new Dreadnoughts, and
send six million peaceable men into the army, and fill a pile of shells
with trinitrol-globule-paralysis, or whatever they call the stuff, and
all this on the rental of an estate which was just keeping me
comfortably in tobacco before this infernal murdering business began!
Do you know what I'd do with that Kaiser if I caught him?"

I looked as interested as possible, and begged for information.

"I'd give him my wife and my income, and see how he liked the mess he's
landed me in!"

Though Mr Craigie had spoken with considerable vehemence, he had not
looked at all fierce, and now his not usually very intellectual face
began to assume a thoughtful expression.

"He's an awful fool, yon man!" he observed.

"Which man?" I inquired.

"Billy," said he, and with a gasp I recognised my Emperor in this brief
epithet.  "It's just astounding to me how he never learns that hot
coals will burn his fingers, and water won't run uphill!  He's always
trying the silliest things."

His eyes suddenly began to twinkle again, and he asked abruptly--

"Why's the Kaiser like my boots?"

I gave it up at once.

"Because he'll be sold again soon!" he chuckled.  "That's one of my
latest, Mr Wilson.  I've little to do in these weary times but make
riddles to amuse my girls and think of dodges for getting a rise out of
my wife.  I had her beautifully the other day!  We've two sons at the
front, you must know, and one of them's called Bob.  Well, I got a
letter from him, and suddenly I looked awful grave and cried, 'My God,
Bob's been blown up'--you should have seen Mrs Craigie jump--'by his
Colonel!' said I, and I tell you she was nearly as put about to find
I'd been pulling her leg as if he'd really been blown to smithereens.
Women are funny things."

I fear I scarcely laughed as much as he expected at this extraordinary
instance of woman's obtuseness, but he did not seem to mind.  He was
already filling another pipe, and having found an audience, was
evidently settling down to an afternoon's conversation--or rather an
afternoon's monologue, for it was quite clear he was independent of any
assistance from me.  I was resolved, however, not to forgo this chance
of learning something more about Eileen.

"You were talking about Miss Holland," I said hurriedly, before he had
time to get under way again.

"Oh, so I was.  And that reminds me I've come here just to make some
inquiries about the girl."

Again his blue eyes twinkled furiously.

"Why's Miss Holland like our hall clock?" he inquired.  "I may mention
by the way that it's always going slow."

Again I gave it up.

"Because you take her hand and get forward!  That was one for my wife's
benefit.  It made her fairly sick!"

"Do you mean," I demanded, "that you were actually in the habit of
holding Miss--er--Holland's hand?"

"Oh, no fears.  I'm past that game.  But Mrs Craigie is a great one for
p's and q's and not being what she calls vulgar, and a joke like that
is a sure draw.  I get her every time with my governess riddles.
Here's a good one now--Why's a pretty governess like a----"

In spite of the need for caution, my impatience was fast overcoming me.

"Then you have been sent by Mrs Craigie to make inquiries about Miss
Holland?" I interrupted a trifle brusquely.

Mr Craigie seemed at least to have the merit of not taking offence
readily.

"That's the idea," he agreed.  "You see, it's this way: my wife's been
at me ever since our governess bolted, as she calls it.  Well now,
what's the good in making inquiries about a thing that's happened and
finished and come to an end?  If it was a case of engaging another
governess, that's a different story.  I'd take care not to have any
German spies next time!"

"German spies!" I exclaimed, with I hope well-simulated horror; "you
don't mean to suspect Miss Holland of that surely!"

"Oh, 'German Spy' is just a kind of term nowadays for any one you don't
know all about," said Mr Craigie easily.  "Every one you haven't seen
before is a German Spy.  I spotted five myself in my own parish at the
beginning of the war, and Mrs Craigie wrote straight off to the Naval
Authorities and reported them all."

"And were they actually spies?" I asked a trifle uncomfortably.

"Not one of them!" laughed he.  "The nearest approach was a tinker
who'd had German measles!  Ha, ha!  It's no good my wife reporting any
more spies, and I just reminded her of that whenever she worried me,
and pulled her leg a bit about me and Miss Holland being in the game
together, and so it was all right till she got wind of a girl who was
the image of the disappearing governess being here at the manse as Mr
Burnett's sister, and then there was simply no quieting her till I'd
taken the car and run over to see what there was in the story.  Mind
you, I didn't think there was a word of truth in it myself; but when
I'd got here, by Jingo, there I saw Miss Holland's tweed coat in the
hall!  Now that's a funny kettle of fish, isn't it?"

I didn't say so, but I had to admit that he was not so very far wrong.
The audacity of the performance was quite worthy of Tiel, but its utter
recklessness seemed not in the least like him.  Had the vanishing
governess's employer been any one less easy-going than Mr Craigie, how
readily our whole scheme might have been wrecked!  Even as it was, I
saw detection staring me straight in the face.  However, I put on as
cool and composed a face as I could.

"I understood that Miss Holland's brother had written to you about it,"
I said brazenly.

"Oh! he is really her brother, is he?" said he, looking at me very
knowingly.

"Certainly."

"He being Burnett and she Holland, eh?"

"You have heard of half-brothers, haven't you?" I inquired with a
condescending smile.

"Oh, I have heard of them," winked Mr Craigie as good-humouredly as
ever; "only I never happened to have heard before of half-sisters
running away from a situation they'd taken without a word of warning,
just whenever their half-brothers whistled."

"Did Mr Burnett whistle?" I inquired, with (I hope) an air of calm and
slightly superior amusement.

"Some one sent her a wire, and I presume it was Mr Burnett," said he.
"By Jingo!"

He stopped suddenly with an air as nearly approaching excitement as was
conceivable in such a gentleman.

"What's the matter?" I asked a trifle anxiously.

"One might get a good one about how to make a governess explode, the
answer being 'Burn it!'  By Jove, I must think that out."

Before I could recover from my amazement at this extraordinary
attitude, he had suddenly resumed his shrewd quizzical look.

"Are you an old friend of Mr Burnett?" he inquired.

"Oh, not very," I said carelessly.

"Then perhaps you'll not be offended by my saying that he seems a rum
kind of bird," he said confidentially.

"In what way?"

"Well, coming up here just for a Sunday to preach a sermon, and then
not preaching it, but staying on as if he'd taken a lease of the
manse--him and his twelve-twenty-fourths of a sister!"

"But," I stammered, before I could think what I was saying, "I thought
he did preach last Sunday!"

"Not him!  Oh, people are talking a lot about it."

This revelation left me absolutely speechless.  Tiel had told me
distinctly and deliberately that he had gone through the farce of
preaching last Sunday--and now I learned that this was a lie.  What was
worse, he had assured me that he was causing no comment, and I now was
told that people were "talking."  Coming straight on top of my
discovery of his reckless conduct of Eileen's affair, what was I to
think of him?

It was at this black moment that Tiel and Eileen entered the room.  My
heart stood still for an instant at the thought that, in their first
surprise, something might be disclosed or some slip made by one of us.
But the next instant I saw that they had learned who was here and were
perfectly prepared.

"How do you do, Mr Craigie!" cried Eileen radiantly.

Mr Craigie seemed distinctly taken aback by the absence of all signs of
guilt or confusion.

"I'm keeping as well as I can, thank you, considering my anxiety," said
he.

"About my sister, sir?" inquired Tiel with his most brazen effrontery,
coming forward and smiling cordially.  "Surely you got my letter?"

I started.  The man clearly had been at the key-hole during the latter
part of our conversation, or he could hardly have made this remark fit
so well into what I had said.

"I'm afraid I didn't."

"Tut, tut!" said Tiel, with a marvellously well-assumed air of
annoyance.  "The local posts seem to have become utterly disorganised.
Apparently they pay no attention to civilian letters at all."

"You're right there," replied Mr Craigie with feeling.  "The only use
we are for is just to be taxed."

"What must you think of us?" cried Eileen, whose acting was fully the
equal of Tiel's.  "However, my brother will explain everything now."

"Yes," said Tiel; "if Mr Craigie happens to be going--and I'm afraid
we've kept him very late already--I'll tell him all about it as we walk
back to his car."

He gave Mr Craigie a confidential glance as though to indicate that he
had something private for his ear.  Our visitor, on his part, was
obviously reluctant to leave an audience of three, especially as it
included his admired governess; but Tiel handled the situation with
quite extraordinary urbanity and skill.  He managed to open the door
and all but pushed Mr Craigie out of the room, without a hint of
inhospitality, and solely as though he were seeking only his
convenience.  I could scarcely believe that this was the man who had
made at least two fatal mistakes--mistakes, at all events, which had an
ominously fatal appearance.

When Mr Craigie had wished us both a very friendly good-bye and the
door had closed behind him, I turned instantly to Eileen and cried,
perhaps more hotly than politely--

"Well, I have been nicely deceived!"

"By whom?" she asked quietly.

"By you a little and by Tiel very much!"

"How have I deceived you?"

I looked at her a trifle foolishly.  After all, I ought to have
realised that she must have had some curious adventure in getting into
the islands.  She had never told me she hadn't, and now I had merely
found out what it was.

"You never told me about your governess adventure--or Mr Craigie--or
that you were called Holland," I said rather lamely.

She merely laughed.

"You never asked me about my adventures, or I should have.  They were
not very discreditable after all."

"Well, anyhow," I said, "Tiel has deceived me grossly, and I am going
to wring an explanation out of him!"

She laid her hand beseechingly on my arm.

"Don't quarrel with him!" she said earnestly.  "It will do no good.  We
may think what we like of some of the things he does, but we have got
to trust him!"

"Trust him!  But how can I?  He told me he preached last Sunday,--I
find it was a lie.  He said nobody in the parish suspected
anything,--in consequence of his not preaching, I find they are all
'talking.'  He mismanaged your coming here so badly that if old Craigie
weren't next door to an imbecile we should all have been arrested days
ago.  How can I trust him now?"

"Say nothing to him now," she said in a low voice.  "Wait till
to-morrow!  I think he will tell you then very frankly."

There was something so significant and yet beseeching in her voice that
I consented, though not very graciously.

"I can hardly picture Herr Tiel being very 'frank'!" I replied.  "But
if you ask me----"

I bowed my obedience, and then catching up her hand pressed it to my
lips, saying--

"I trust you absolutely!"

When I looked up I caught a look in her eye that I could make nothing
of at all.  It was beyond question very kind, yet there seemed to be
something sorrowful too.  It made her look so ravishing that I think I
would have taken her in my arms there and then, had not Tiel returned
at that moment.

"Well," asked Eileen, "what did you tell Mr Craigie?"

"I said that you were secretly married to Mr Wilson, whose parents
would cut him off without a penny if they suspected the entanglement,
and this was the only plan by which you could spend a few days
together.  Of course I swore him to secrecy."

For a moment I hesitated whether to resent this liberty, or to feel a
little pleased, or to be amused.  Eileen laughed gaily, and so I
laughed too.  And that was the end (so far) of my afternoon adventure.



III.

THURSDAY NIGHT.

I went up to my room early in the evening.  Eileen had been very
silent, and about nine o'clock she bade us good-night and left us.  To
sit alone with Tiel, feeling as I did and yet bound by a promise not to
upbraid him, was intolerable, and so I left the parlour a few minutes
after she did.  As I went down the passage to the back, my way lit only
by the candle I was carrying, I was struck with a sound I had heard in
that house before, only never so loudly.  It was the droning of the
wind through the crevices of some door, and the whining melancholy note
in the stillness of that house of divided plotters and confidences
withheld, did nothing to raise my spirits.

When I reached my room I realised what had caused the droning.  The
wind had changed to a new quarter, and as another consequence my
chimney was smoking badly and the room was filled with a pungent blue
cloud.  It is curious how events arise as consequences of trifling and
utterly different circumstances.  I tried opening my door and then my
window, but still the fire smoked and the cloud refused to disperse.
Then I had an inspiration.  I have mentioned a large cupboard.  It was
so large as almost to be a minute room, and I remembered that it had a
skylight in its sloping roof.  I opened this, and as the room at once
began to clear, I left it open.

And then I paced the floor and smoked and thought.  What was to be made
of these very disquieting events?  Clearly Tiel was either a much less
capable and clever man than he was reputed--a bit of a fraud in
fact--or else he was carrying his fondness for mystery and for suddenly
springing brilliant surprises, like conjuring tricks, upon people, to
the most extreme lengths.  If he were really carrying out a cunning
deliberate policy in not preaching last Sunday, good and well, but it
was intolerable that he should have deceived me about it.  It seemed
quite a feasible theory to suppose that he had got out of conducting
the service on some excuse in order that he might be asked to stay
longer and preach next Sunday instead.  But then he had deliberately
told me he had preached, and that the people had been so pleased that
they had invited him to preach again.  It sounded like a schoolboy's
boastfulness!

Of course if he were the sort of man who would (like myself) have drawn
the line at conducting a bogus religious service, I could quite well
understand his getting out of it somehow.  But when I remembered his
tale of the murder of the real Mr Burnett, I dismissed that hypothesis.
Besides, why deceive me in any case?  I daresay I should have felt a
little anxious as to the result if he had evaded the duty he had
professed to come up and perform, but would he care twopence about
that?  I did not believe it.

And then his method of getting Eileen into the islands, though
ingenious enough (if not very original), had been marred by the most
inconceivable recklessness.  Surely some better scheme could have been
devised for getting her out of the Craigies' house than a sudden flight
without a word of explanation--and a flight, moreover, to another house
in the same island where gossip would certainly spread in the course of
a very few days.  Of course Mr Craigie's extraordinary character gave
the scheme a chance it never deserved, but was Tiel really so
diabolically clever that he actually counted on that?  How could he
have known so much of Craigie's character?  Indeed, that explanation
was inconceivable.

And then again, why had Eileen consented to such a wild plan?  That
neither of them should have realised its drawbacks seemed quite
extraordinary.  There must be some deep cunning about it that escaped
me altogether.  If it were not so, we were lost indeed!  And so I
resolved to believe that there was more wisdom in the scheme than I
realised, and simply leave it at that.

Thereupon I sat down and wrote for an hour or two to keep me from
thinking further on the subject, and at last about midnight I resolved
to go to bed.  The want of fresh air had been troubling me greatly, and
it struck me that a safe way of getting a little would be to put my
head through the open skylight for a few minutes.  It was quite dark in
the cupboard, so that no light could escape; and I brought a chair
along, stood on it, and looked out, with my head projecting from the
midst of the sloping slates, and a beautiful cool breeze refreshing my
face.

So cool was the wind that there was evidently north in it, and this was
confirmed by the sky, which literally blazed with stars.  I could see
dimly but pretty distinctly the outbuildings at the back of the house,
and the road that led to the highway, and the dark rim of hills beyond.
Suddenly I heard the back door gently open, and still as I had stood on
my chair before, I became like a statue now.  In a moment the figure of
Tiel appeared, and from a flash of light I saw that he carried his
electric torch.  He walked slowly towards the highroad till he came to
a low wall that divided the fields at the side, and then from behind
the wall up jumped the form of a man, illuminated for an instant by a
flash from the torch, and then just distinguishable in the gloom.

I held my breath and waited for the crack of a pistol-shot, gently
withdrawing my head a little, and prepared to rush down and take part
in the fray.  But there was not a sound save a low murmur of voices,
far too distant and too hushed for me to catch a syllable of what they
were saying.  And then after two or three minutes I saw Tiel turn and
start to stroll back again.  But at that moment my observations ceased,
for I stepped hastily down from my chair and stood breathlessly waiting
for him to run up to my room.

He was quiet almost as a mouse.  I had not heard him pass through the
house as he went out, and I barely heard a sound now as he returned.
But I heard enough to know that he had gone off to bed, and did not
propose to pay me a visit.

"What in Heaven's name did it mean?" I asked myself.

A dozen wild and alarming theories flashed through my mind, and then at
last I saw a ray of comfort.  Perhaps this was only a rendezvous with
Ashington, or some subordinate in his pay.  It was not a very brilliant
ray, for the more I thought over it, the more unlikely it seemed that a
rendezvous should take place at that spot and in that inconvenient
fashion, when there was nothing to prevent Ashington or his emissary
from entering the house by the front door and holding their
conversation in the parlour.  However, it seemed absolutely the only
solution, short of supposing that the house was watched, and so I
accepted it for what it was worth in the meantime, and turned into bed.

My sleep was very broken, and in the early morning I felt so wide
awake, and my thoughts were so restlessly busy, that I jumped up and
resolved to have another peep out of the skylight.  Very quietly I
climbed on the chair and put my head through again.  There was the man,
pacing slowly away from me, from the wall towards the highroad!  I
studied his back closely, and of two things I felt certain: he was not
a sailor of any sort--officer or bluejacket--and yet he walked like a
drilled man.  A tall, square-shouldered fellow, in dark plain clothes,
who walks with a short step and a stiff back--what does that suggest?
A policeman of some sort--constable or detective, no doubt about that!

At the road he turned, evidently to stroll back again, and down went my
head, I did not venture to look out again, nor was there any need.  I
dressed quickly, and this time put on my uniform.  This precaution
seemed urgently--and ominously--called for!  And then I slipped
downstairs, went to the front hall, and up the other stairs, and
quietly called "Tiel!"  For I confess I was not disposed to sit for two
or three hours waiting for information.

At my second cry he appeared at his bedroom door, prompt as usual.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Who did you speak to last night?" I asked point-blank.

He looked at me for an instant and then smiled.

"Good heavens, it wasn't you, was it?" he inquired.

"Me!" I exclaimed.

"I wondered how you knew otherwise."

I told him briefly.

"And now tell me exactly what happened!" I demanded.

"Certainly," said he quietly.  "I went out, as I often do last thing at
night, to see that the coast is clear, and this time I found it wasn't.
A man jumped up from behind the wall just as you saw."

"Who was he?"

"I can only suspect.  I saw him for an instant by the light of my
torch, and then it seemed less suspicious to put it out."

"I don't see that," I said.

"I am a cautious man," smiled Tiel, as easily as though the incident
had not been of life and death importance.

"And what did he say to you?" I demanded impatiently.

"I spoke to him and asked him what he was doing there."

"What did he say to that?"

"I gave him no chance to answer--because, if the answer was what I
feared, he wouldn't make it.  I simply told him he would catch cold if
he sat there on the grass, and gave him some details about my own
misfortune in getting rheumatism through sleeping in damp sheets."

"I see," I said; "you simply tried to bluff him by behaving like an
ordinary simple-minded honest clergyman?"

Tiel nodded.

"It was the only thing to do--unless I had shot him there and then.
And there might have been more men for all I knew."

"Well," I said, "I can tell you something more about that man.  He is
patrolling the road at the back at this very moment."

Tiel looked grave enough now.

"It looks as if the house were being watched," he said rather slowly.

"Looks?  It _is_ being watched!"

He thought for a moment.

"Evidently they only suspect so far.  They can know nothing, or they
wouldn't be content with merely watching.  Thank you for telling me.
We'll talk about it later."

Still cool as a cucumber he re-entered his room, and I returned to my
own.

What can be done?  Nothing!  I can only sit and wait and keep myself
from worrying by writing.  I have made up my fire and my door is
locked, so that this manuscript will be in flames before any one can
enter, if it comes to the worst.  Recalling the words of Tiel a few
days ago, I shiver a little to think of what is ahead.  Suspicion has
_begun_!



IV.

FRIDAY.

This is written under very different circumstances--and in a different
place.  My last words were written with my eyes shut; these are written
with them open, but I shall simply tell what happened as calmly as I
can.  Let the events speak; I shall make no comment in the meanwhile.

On that Friday morning our breakfast was converted into a council of
war.  We all three discussed the situation gravely and frankly.  I felt
tempted to say some very bitter words to Tiel, for it seemed to me
quite obvious that it was simply his gross mismanagement which had
brought us to the edge of this precipice; but I am glad now I
refrained.  I was at no pains, however, to be over-polite.

"There is nothing to be done in the meanwhile, I'm afraid," said he.

This coolness seemed to me all very well in its proper season, but not
at present.

"Yes, there is," I said urgently.  "We might get out of this house and
look for some other refuge!"

He shook his head.

"Not by daylight, if it is being watched."

"Besides," said Eileen, "this is the day we have been waiting for.  We
don't want to be far away, do we?"

"Personally," I said, "it seems to me that as I cannot be where I ought
to be" (and here I looked at Tiel somewhat bitterly), "with my brave
comrades in their attack on our enemies, I should much prefer to make
for a safer place than this--if one can be found."

"It can't," said Tiel briefly.

And that indeed became more and more obvious the longer we talked it
over.  Had our house stood in the midst of a wood, or had a kindly fog
blown out of the North Sea, we might have made a move.  As it was, I
had to agree that it would be sheer folly, before nightfall anyhow; and
there was nothing for it but waiting.

To add to the painfulness of this ordeal, I found myself obliged to
remain in my room, now that I had resumed my uniform.  This time it did
not need Tiel to bid me take this precaution.  In fact, I was amazed to
hear him suggesting that I would be just as safe in the parlour.  At
the time I naturally failed altogether to understand this departure
from his usual caution, and I asked him sarcastically if he wished to
precipitate a catastrophe.

"We have still a good deal to discuss," said he.

"I thought there was nothing more to be said."

"I mean in connection with the other scheme."

"The devil may take the other scheme!" said I, "anyhow till we escape
from this trap.  What is the good in planning ahead, with the house
watched night and day?"

"We only suspect it is watched," said he calmly.

"Suspect!" I cried.  "We are not idiots, and why should we pretend to
be?"

And so I went up to my room and spent the most miserable and restless
day of my life.  How slowly the hours passed, no words of mine can give
the faintest idea.  In my present state of mind writing was impossible,
and I tried to distract myself by reading novels; but they were English
novels, and every word in them seemed to gall me.  I implored Eileen to
come and keep me company.  She came up once for a little, but the devil
seemed to have possessed her, for I felt no sympathy coming from her at
all; and when at last I tried to be a little affectionate she first
repulsed me, saying it was no time for that, and then she left me.
With baffled love added to acute anxiety, you can picture my condition!

For the first part of that horrible day I kept listening for some sign
of the police, and now and then looking out from the skylight at the
back, but the watcher was no longer visible, and not a fresh step or
voice was to be heard in the house.  My door stood locked, my fire was
blazing, and my papers lay ready to be consumed, and at moments I
positively longed to see them blazing and myself arrested, and get it
over, yet nothing happened.

In the afternoon the direction of my thoughts began to change as the
hour approached when the fleet should sail and my country reap the
reward of the enterprise and fidelity which I felt conscious I had
shown, and the sacrifice which I feared I should have to make.  I began
to make brief visits to the parlour to look out of the window and see
if I could see any signs of movement in the Armada.  And then for the
second time I saw Tiel in a genial cheerful humour, and this time there
was no doubt of the cause.  He too was in a state of tension, and his
mind, like mine, was running on the coming drama.  In fact, as the
afternoon wore on, his thoughts were so entirely wrapped up in this
that he frankly talked of nothing else.  Was I sure we should have at
least four submarines? he asked me; and would they be brought well in
and take the risk?  Indeed, I never heard him ask so many questions, or
appear so pleased as he did when I reassured him on all these points.

As for Eileen, she was quite as excited as either of us, and when Tiel
was not asking me questions, she was; until once again prudence drove
me back to my room.  On one of my visits she gave us some tea, but that
is the only meal I remember any of us eating between our early and
hurried lunch and the evening when the crash came.

The one thing I looked for as I gazed out of that window was the rising
of smoke from the battle-fleet, and at last I saw it.  Stream after
stream, black or grey, gradually mounted, first from one leviathan and
then from another, till the air was darkened hundreds of feet above
them, and if our flotilla were in such a position that they could look
for this sign, they must have seen it.  This time I returned to my room
with a heart a little lightened.

"I have done my duty," I said to myself, "come what may of it!"

And I do not think that any impartial reader will deny that, so far as
my own share of this enterprise was concerned, I had done my very
utmost to make it succeed.

The next time I came down my spirits rose higher still, and for the
moment I quite forgot the danger in which I stood.  The light cruisers,
the advance-guard of the fleet, were beginning to move!  This time when
I went back to my room I forced myself to read two whole chapters of a
futile novel before I again took off the lid and peeped in to see how
the stew was cooking.  The instant I had finished the second chapter I
leapt up and opened the door--and then I stood stock-still and
listened.  A distant sound of voices reached me, and a laugh rang out
that was certainly neither Tiel's nor Eileen's.

I locked my door, slipped back again, and prepared to burn my papers;
but though I stood over the fire for minute after minute, there was no
sound of approaching steps.  Very quietly I opened the door and
listened once more, and still I heard voices.  And thus I lingered and
hesitated for more than an hour.  By this time the attack had probably
been made, and I could stand the suspense no longer, so I went
recklessly downstairs, strode along the passage, and opened the parlour
door.

Nothing will ever efface the memory of the scene that met my eyes.
Tiel, Eileen, and Ashington sat there, the two men each with a
whisky-and-soda, and all three seemingly in the most extraordinarily
high spirits.  It was Ashington's face and voice that suddenly rent the
veil from before my eyes.  Instead of the morose and surly individual I
had met before, he sat there the incarnation of the jovial sailor.  He
was raising his glass to his lips, and as I entered I heard the words--

"Here's to you again, Robin!"

What had happened I did not clearly grasp in that first instant, but I
_felt_ I was betrayed.  My hand went straight to my revolver pocket,
but before I could seize it, Tiel, who sat nearest, leapt up, grasped
my wrist, and with the shock of his charge drove me down into a chair.
It was done so suddenly that I could not possibly have resisted.  Then
with a movement like a conjurer he picked the revolver out of my
pocket, and said in his infernally cool calm way--

"Please consider yourself a prisoner of war, Mr Belke."

Even then I had not grasped the whole truth.

"A prisoner of war!" I exclaimed.  "And what the devil are you, Herr
Tiel?  A traitor?"

"You have got my name a little wrong," said he, with that icy smile of
his.  "I am Commander Blacklock of the British Navy, so you can
surrender either to me or to Captain Phipps, whichever you choose."

"Phipps!" I gasped, for I remembered that as the name of a member of
Jellicoe's staff.

"That's me, old man," said the gross person with insufferable
familiarity.  "The Honourable Thomas Bainbridge Ashington would have a
fit if he looked in the glass and saw this mug!"

"Then I understand I am betrayed?" I asked as calmly as I could.

"You're nabbed," said Captain Phipps, with brutal British slang, "and
let me tell you that's better than being dead, which you would have
been if you'd rejoined your boat."

I could not quite control my feelings.

"What has happened?" I cried.

"We've bagged the whole four--just at the very spot on the chart which
you and I arranged!" chuckled the great brute.

(At this point Lieutenant von Belke's comments become a little too acid
for publication, and it has been considered advisable that the
narrative should be finished by the Editor.)



PART V.

A FEW CONCLUDING CHAPTERS BY THE EDITOR



I.

TIEL'S JOURNEY.

For the moment the fortitude of the hapless young lieutenant completely
broke down when he heard these tidings.  It took him a minute to
control his voice, and then he said--

"Please give me back my revolver.  I give you my word of honour not to
use it on any of you three."

Commander Blacklock shook his head.

"I am sorry we can't oblige you," said he.

"Poor old chap," said Phipps with genial sympathy; "it's rotten bad
luck on you, I must admit."

These well-meant words seemed only to incense the captive.

"I do not wish your damned sympathy!" he cried.

"Hush, hush!  Ladies present," said Phipps soothingly.

Von Belke turned a lowering eye on Miss Holland.  She had said not a
word, and scarcely moved since he came into the room, but her breathing
was a little quicker than usual, and her gaze had followed intently
each speaker in turn.

"Ach so!" he said; "the decoy is still present.  I had forgot."

Blacklock's eye blazed dangerously.

"Mr Belke," he said, "Captain Phipps and I have pleaded very strongly
that, in spite of your exceedingly ambiguous position, and the fact
that you have not always been wearing uniform, you should not suffer
the fate of a spy.  But if you make any more remarks like your last, I
warn you we shall withdraw this plea."

For the first time Eileen spoke.

"Please do not think it matters to me, Captain Blacklock----" she began.

In a whisper Phipps interrupted her.

"Eye-wash!" he said.  "It's the only way to treat a Hun--show him the
stick!"

The hint had certainly produced its effect.  Von Belke shrugged his
shoulders, and merely remarked--

"I am your prisoner.  I say nothing more."

"That's distinctly wiser," said Captain Phipps, with a formidable scowl
at the captive and a wink at Miss Holland.

For a few moments von Belke kept his word, and sat doggedly silent.
Then suddenly he exclaimed--

"But I do not understand all this!  How should a German agent be a
British officer?  My Government knew all about Tiel--I was told to be
under his orders--it is impossible you can be he!"

Blacklock turned to the other two.

"I almost think I owe Mr Belke an explanation," he said with a smile.

"Yes," cried Eileen eagerly, "do tell him, and then--then he will
understand a little better."

Blacklock filled a pipe and leaned his back against the fireplace, a
curious mixture of clergyman in his attire and keen professional sailor
in his voice and bearing, now that all need for pretence was gone.

"The story I told you of the impersonation and attempted murder of Mr
Alexander Burnett," he began, "was simply a repetition of the tale told
me by Adolph Tiel at Inverness--where, by the way, he was arrested."

Von Belke started violently.

"So!" he cried.  "Then--then you never were Tiel?"

"I am thankful to say I never was, for a more complete scoundrel never
existed.  He and his friend Schumann actually did knock Mr Burnett on
the head, tie a stone to his feet, and pitch him over the cliff.
Unfortunately for them, they made a bad job of the knot and the stone
came loose.  In consequence, Mr Burnett floated long enough to be
picked up by a patrol boat, which had seen the whole performance
outlined against the sky at the top of the cliff above her.  By the
time they had brought him back to a certain base, Mr Burnett had
revived and was able to tell of his adventure.  The affair being in my
line, was put into my hands, and it didn't take long to see what the
rascals' game was."

"No," commented Phipps; "I suppose you spotted that pretty quick."

"Practically at once.  A clergyman on his way here--clothes and
passport stolen--left for murdered--chauffeur so like him that the
minister noticed the resemblance himself in the instant the man was
knocking him down,--what was the inference?  Pretty obvious, you'll
agree.  Well, the first step was simple.  The pair had separated; but
we got Tiel at Inverness on his way North, and Schumann within
twenty-four hours afterwards at Liverpool."

"Good business!" said Phipps.  "I hadn't heard about Schumann before."

"Well," continued Blacklock, "I interviewed Mr Tiel, and I found I'd
struck just about the worst thing in the way of rascals it has ever
been my luck to run up against.  He began to bargain at once.  If his
life was spared he would give me certain very valuable information."

"Mein Gott!" cried Belke.  "Did a German actually say that?"

"Tiel belongs to no country," said Blacklock.  "He is a cosmopolitan
adventurer without patriotism or morals.  I told him his skin would be
safe if his information really proved valuable; and when I heard his
story, I may say that he did save his skin.  He gave the whole show
away, down to the passwords that were to pass between you when you met."

He suddenly turned to Phipps and smiled.

"It's curious how the idea came to me.  I've done a good bit of secret
service work myself, and felt in such a funk sometimes that I've
realised the temptation to give the show away if I were nailed.  Well,
as I looked at Tiel, I said to myself, 'There, but for the grace of
God, stands Robin Blacklock!'  And then suddenly it flashed into my
mind that we were really not at all unlike one another--same height,
and tin-opener nose, and a few streaks of anno domini in our hair, and
so on."

"I know, old thing," said his friend, "it's the wife-poisoning type.
You see 'em by the dozen in the Chamber of Horrors."

Their Teutonic captive seemed to wax a little impatient.

"What happened then?" he demanded.

"What happened was that I decided to continue Mr Tiel's journey for
him.  The arrest and so on had lost a day, but I knew that the night of
your arrival was left open, and I had to risk it.  That splash of salt
water on your motor bike, and your resource in dodging pursuit, just
saved the situation, and we arrived at the house on the same night."

"So that was why you were late!" exclaimed von Belke.  "Fool that I was
not to have questioned and suspected!"

"It might have been rather a nasty bunker," admitted Blacklock, "but
luckily I got you to lose your temper with me when I reached that
delicate part of my story, and you forgot to ask me."

"You always were a tactful fellow, Robin," murmured Phipps.

"Of course," resumed Blacklock, "I was in touch with certain people who
advised me what scheme to recommend.  My only suggestion was that the
officer sent to advise us professionally should be one whose appearance
might lead those who did not know him to suspect him capable of
treasonable inclinations.  My old friend, Captain Phipps----"

"Robin!" roared his old friend, "I read your bloomin' message.  You
asked for the best-looking officer on the staff, and the one with the
nicest manners.  Get on with your story!"

These interludes seemed to perplex their captive considerably.

"You got a pretended traitor?  I see," he said gravely.

"Exactly.  I tried you first with Ashington of the _Haileybury_--whom I
slandered grossly by the way.  If you had happened to know him by sight
I should have passed on to another captain, till I got one you didn't
know.  Well, I needn't recall what happened at our council of war, but
now we come to rather a----" he hesitated and glanced for an instant at
Miss Holland,--"well, rather a delicate point in the story.  I think
it's only fair to those concerned to tell you pretty fully what
happened.  I believe I am right in thinking that they would like me to
do so."

Again he glanced at the girl, and this time she gave a little assenting
nod.

"That night, after you left us, Mr Belke, Captain Phipps and I had a
long discussion over a very knotty point.  How were we to get you back
again here after you had delivered your message to your submarine?"

"I do not see exactly why you wished me to return?" said von Belke.

"There were at least three vital reasons, In the first place some one
you spoke to might have known too much about Tiel and have spotted the
fraud.  Then again, some one might easily have known the real Captain
Ashington, and it would be a little difficult to describe Captain
Phipps in such a way as to confound him with any one else.  Finally, we
wished to extract a little more information from you."

Von Belke leapt from his seat with an exclamation.

"What have I not told you!" he cried hoarsely.  "Mein Gott, I had
forgotten that!  Give me that pistol!  Come, give it to me!  Why keep
me alive?"

"I suppose because it is an English custom," replied Commander
Blacklock quietly.  "Also, you will be exceedingly glad some day to
find yourself still alive.  Please sit down and listen.  I am anxious
to explain this point fully, for a very good reason."

With a groan their captive sat down, but with his head held now between
his hands and his eyes cast upon the floor.

"We agreed that at all costs this must be managed, and so I tried my
hand at exercising my authority over you.  I saw that was going to be
no good, and gave it up at once for fear you'd smell a rat.  And then I
thought of Miss Holland."

Von Belke looked up suddenly.

"Ah!" he cried, "so that is why this lady appeared--this lady I may not
call a decoy!"

"That is why," said Blacklock.



II.

THE LADY.

Lieutenant von Belke looked for a moment at the lady who had enslaved
him, but for some reason he averted his gaze rather quickly.  Then with
an elaborate affectation of sarcastic politeness which served but ill
to conceal the pain at his heart and the shock to his pride, he
inquired--

"May I be permitted to ask what agency supplies ladies so accomplished
at a notice so brief?"

"Providence," said Blacklock promptly and simply.  "Miss Holland had
never undertaken any such work before, and her name is on the books of
no bureau."

"I believe you entirely," said von Belke ironically.  "You taught her
her trade then, I presume?"

"I did."

The German stared at him.

"Is there really any need to deceive me further?" he inquired.

"I am telling you the simple truth," said Blacklock unruffled.  "I had
the great good fortune to make Miss Holland's acquaintance on the
mail-boat crossing to these islands.  She was going to visit Mr
Craigie--that intellectual gentleman you met yesterday--under the
precise circumstances he described.  I noticed Miss Holland the moment
she came aboard the boat."  He paused for a moment, and then turned to
Eileen with a smile.  "I have a confession to make to you, Miss
Holland, which I may as well get off my chest now.  My mind, naturally
enough perhaps, was rather running on spies, and when I discovered that
you were travelling with a suit-case of German manufacture I had a few
minutes' grave suspicion.  I now apologise."

Eileen laughed.

"Only a few minutes!" she exclaimed.  "It seems to me I got off very
easily!"

"That was why I was somewhat persistent in my conversation," he
continued, still smiling a little, "but it quickly served the purpose
of satisfying me absolutely that my guns were on the wrong target.  And
so I promptly relieved you of my conversation."

He turned again to von Belke.

"Then, Mr Belke, a very curious thing happened, which one of us may
perhaps be pardoned for thinking diabolical and the other providential.
Miss Holland happened to have met the real Mr Burnett and bowled me
out.  And then I had another lucky inspiration.  If Miss Holland will
pardon me for saying so in her presence, I had already been struck with
the fact that she was a young lady of very exceptional looks and brains
and character--and, moreover, she knew Germany and she knew German.  It
occurred to me that in dealing with a young and probably not
unimpressionable man such an ally might conceivably come in useful."

"Robin," interrupted his old friend, with his rich laugh, "you are the
coldest-blooded brute I ever met!"

"To plot against a man like that!" agreed von Belke with bitter
emphasis.

"Oh, I wasn't thinking of you," said Captain Phipps, with a gallant
glance at the lady.  "However, on you go with your yarn."

"Well, I decided on the spot to take Miss Holland into my
confidence--and I should like to say that confidence was never better
justified.  She seemed inclined to do what she could for her country."
Commander Blacklock paused for an instant, and added apologetically, "I
am putting it very mildly and very badly, but you know what I mean.
She was, in fact, ready to do anything I asked her on receipt of a
summons from me.  I had thought of her even when talking to Captain
Phipps, but I felt a little reluctant to involve her in the business,
with all it entailed, unless no other course remained open.  And no
other course was open.  And so I first telegraphed to her and then went
over and fetched her.  That was how she came to play the part she did,
entirely at my request and instigation."

"You--you then told her to--to make me admire her?" asked von Belke in
an unsteady voice.

"Frankly I did.  Of course it was not for me to teach a lady how to be
attractive, but I may say that we rehearsed several of the scenes very
carefully indeed,--I mean in connection with such matters as the things
you should say to Commander Wiedermann, and so on.  Miss Holland placed
herself under my orders, and I simply told her what to say.  She was in
no sense to blame."

"Blame!" cried Captain Phipps.  "She deserves all the decorations
going!"

"I was trying to look at it from Mr Belke's point of view," said
Blacklock, "as I think Miss Holland probably desires."

She gave him a quick, grateful look, and he continued--

"It was I who suggested that she should appear critical of me, and
endeavour, as it were, to divide our household into two camps, so that
you should feel you were acting against me when you were actually doing
what I wished.  I tell you this frankly so that you may see who was
responsible for the deceit that we were forced to practise."

"Forced!" cried the young lieutenant bitterly.  "Who forced you to use
a woman?  Could you not have deceived me alone?"

"No," said Blacklock candidly, "I couldn't, or I should not have sent
for Miss Holland.  It was an extremely difficult problem to get you to
risk your life, and stand out against your commanding officer's wishes
and your own inclinations and your apparent duty, and come back to this
house after the whole plan was arranged and every argument seemed to be
in favour of your going aboard your boat again.  Nobody but a man under
the influence of a woman would have taken such a course.  Those were
the facts I had to face, and--well, the thing came off, thanks entirely
to Miss Holland.  I have apologised to her twenty times already for
making such a use of her, and I apologise again."

Suddenly the young German broke out.

"Ah!  But were there not consolations?"

"What do you mean?"

"You and Miss Holland living by yourselves in this house--is it that
you need apologise for?"

"Miss Holland never spent a single night under this roof," said
Blacklock quietly.

"Not--not a night," stammered von Belke.  "Then where----?"

"She stayed at a house in the neighbourhood."

The lieutenant seemed incapable of comment, and Captain Phipps observed
genially,

"There seem to have been some rum goings-on behind your back, Mr Belke!"

Von Belke seemed to be realising this fact himself, and resenting it.

"You seem to have amused yourself very much by deceiving me," he
remarked.

"I assure you I did nothing for fun," said Blacklock gravely, yet with
a twinkle in his eye.  "It was all in the way of business."

"The story that you preached, for instance!"

"Would you have felt quite happy if I had told you I had omitted to do
the one thing I had professed to come here for?"

Von Belke gave a little sound that might have meant anything.  Then he
exclaimed--

"But your servant who was not supposed to know anything--that was to
annoy me, I suppose!"

"To isolate you.  I didn't want you to speak to a soul but me."

The captive sat silent for a moment, and then said--

"You had the house watched by the police--I see that now."

"A compliment to you, Mr Belke," smiled the Commander; and then he
added, "You gave me one or two anxious moments, I may tell you.  Your
demand for mufti necessitated a very hurried interview with the
commander of a destroyer, and old Craigie's visit very nearly upset the
apple-cart.  I had to tell him pretty nearly the whole truth when I got
him outside.  But those incidents came after the chief crisis was over.
The nearest squeak was when I thought you were safely engaged with Miss
Holland, and a certain officer was calling on me, who was _not_ Captain
Phipps.  In fact, he was an even more exalted person.  Miss Holland
saved the situation by crying out that you were coming, or I'm afraid
that would have been the end of the submarine attack."

"So?" said the young German slowly and with a very wry face, and then
he turned to Eileen.  "Then, Miss Holland, every time you did me the
honour to appear kind and visit me you were carrying out one of this
gentleman's plans?  And every word you spoke was said to entangle me in
your net, or to keep me quiet while something was being done behind my
back?  I hope that some day you may enjoy the recollection as much as I
am enjoying it now!"

"Mr Belke," she cried, "I am very deeply sorry for treating even an
enemy as I treated you!"

She spoke so sincerely and with so much emotion that even Captain
Phipps assumed a certain solemn expression, which was traditionally
never seen on his face except when the Chaplain was actually
officiating, and jumping up she came a step towards the prisoner.
There she stood, a graceful and beautiful figure, her eyes glowing with
fervour.

"All I can say for myself, and all I can ask you to think of when your
recollections of me pain you, is only this--if you had a sister, would
you have had her hesitate to do one single thing I did in order to
defeat her country's enemies?"

Von Belke looked at her for a moment with frowning brow and folded
arms.  Then all he said was--

"Germany's cause is sacred!"

Her eyes opened very wide.

"Then what is right for Germany is wrong for her enemies?"

"Naturally.  How can Germany both be right--as she is, and yet be
wrong?"

"I--I don't think you quite understand what I mean," she said with a
puzzled look.

"Germany never will," said Blacklock quietly.  "That is why we are at
war."

A tramp of footsteps sounded on the gravel outside, and Captain Phipps
sprang up.

"Your guard has come for you, Mr Belke," he said.  "I'm sorry to
interrupt this conversation, but I'm afraid you must be moving."



III.

THE EMPTY ENVELOPE.

Commander Blacklock closed the front door.

"Chilly night," he observed.

"It is rather," said Eileen.

The wind droned through a distant keyhole mournfully and continuously.
That melancholy piping sound never rose and never fell; monotonous and
unvarying it piped on and on.  Otherwise the house had that peculiar
feeling of quiet which houses have when stirring events are over and
people have departed.

The two remaining inhabitants re-entered the parlour, glanced at one
another with a half smile, and then seemed simultaneously to find a
little difficulty in knowing what to do next.

"Well," said Blacklock, "our business seems over."

He felt he had spoken a little more abruptly than he intended, and
would have liked to repeat his observations in a more genial tone.

"Yes," said she almost as casually, "there is nothing more to be done
to-night, I suppose."

"I shall have to write up my report of our friend Mr Belke's life and
last words," said he with a half laugh.

"And I have got to get over to Mrs Brown's," she replied, "and so I had
better go at once."

"Oh, there's no such desperate hurry," he said hastily; "I haven't much
to write up to-night.  We must have some supper first."

"Yes," she agreed, "I suppose we shall begin to feel hungry soon if we
don't.  I'll see about it.  What would you like?"

"The cold ham and a couple of boiled eggs will suit me."

She agreed again.

"That won't take long, and then you can begin your report."

Again he protested hastily.

"Oh, but there's no hurry about that, I assure you.  I only wanted to
save trouble."

While she was away he stood before the fire, gazing absently into space
and scarcely moving a muscle.  The ham and boiled eggs appeared, and a
little more animation became apparent, but it was not a lively feast.
She talked for a little in an ordinary, cheerful way, just as though
there was no very special subject for conversation; but he seemed too
absent-minded and silent to respond even to these overtures, except
with a brief smile and a briefer word.  They had both been quite silent
for about five minutes, when he suddenly said in a constrained manner,
but with quite a different intonation--

"Well, I am afraid our ways part now.  What are you going to do next?"

"I've been wondering," she said; "and I think if Mrs Craigie still
wants me I ought to go back to her."

"Back to the Craigies!" he exclaimed.  "And become--er--a governess
again?"

"It will be rather dull at first," she laughed; "but one can't have
such adventures as this every day, and I really have treated the
Craigies rather badly.  You see you told Mr Craigie the truth about my
desertion of them, and they may forgive me.  If they do, and if they
still need me, I feel I simply must offer my services."

"It's very good of you."

She laughed again.

"It is at least as much for my own interest as Mrs Craigie's.  I have
nowhere else to go to and nothing else to do."

"I wish I could offer you another job like this," said he.

A sparkle leapt into her eyes.

"If you ever do see any chance of making any sort of use of me--I mean
of letting me be useful--you will be sure to let me know, won't you?"

"Rather!  But honestly, I'm not likely to have such a bit of luck as
this again."

"What will you be doing?"

"Whatever I'm told to do; the sort of thing I was on before--odd jobs
of the 'hush' type.  But I wish I could think of you doing something
more--well, more worthy of your gifts."

"One must take one's luck as it comes," she said with an outward air of
philosophy, whatever her heart whispered.

"Exactly," he agreed with emphasis.  "Still----"

He broke off, and pulled a pipe out of his pocket.

"I'll leave you to smoke," she said, "and say good-night now."

"One moment!" said he, jumping up; "there's something I feel I must
say.  I've been rather contrite about it.  I'm afraid I haven't quite
played cricket so far as you are concerned."

She looked at him quickly.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"It's about Belke.  I'm afraid Phipps was quite right in saying I'm
rather cold-blooded when I am keen over a job.  Perhaps it becomes a
little too much of a mere problem.  Getting you to treat Belke as you
did, for instance.  You were very nice to him to-night--though he was
too German to understand how you felt--and it struck me that very
possibly you had been seeing a great deal of him, and he's a
nice-looking fellow, with a lot of good stuff in him, a brave man, no
doubt about it, and--well, perhaps you liked him enough to make you
wish I hadn't let you in for such a job.  I just wondered."

She looked at him for an instant with an expression he did not quite
understand; then she looked away and seemed for a moment a little
embarrassed, and then she looked at him again, and he thought he had
never seen franker eyes.

"You're as kind and considerate as--as, well, as you're clever!" she
said with a half laugh.  "But, if you only knew, if you only even had
the least guess how I've longed to do something for my
country--something really useful, I mean; how unutterably wretched I
felt when the trifling work I was doing was stopped by a miserable
neglected cold and I had to have a change, and as I'd no money I had to
take this stupid job of teaching; and how I envied the women who were
more fortunate and really _were_ doing useful things; oh, then you'd
know how grateful I feel to you!  If I could make every officer in the
German navy--and the army too--fall in love with me, and then hand them
over to you, I'd do it fifty times over!  Don't, please, talk nonsense,
or think nonsense!  Good-night, Mr Tiel, and perhaps it's good-bye."

She laughed as she gave him his _nom-de-guerre_, and held out her hand
as frankly as she had spoken.  He did not take it, however.

"I'm going to escort you over to Mrs Brown's," he said with a very
different expression now in his eyes.

"It's very good of you," she said; "you are sure you have time?"

"Loads!" he assured her.

He opened the door for her, but she stopped on the threshold.  A young
woman was waiting in the hall.

"Mrs Brown has sent her girl to escort me," she said, "so we'll have
to"--she corrected herself--"we must say good-night now.  Is it
good-bye, or shall I see you in the morning?"

His face had become very long again.

"I'm very much afraid not.  I've got to report myself with the lark.
Good-bye."

The front door closed behind her, and Commander Blacklock strode back
to the fire and gazed at it for some moments.

"Well," he said to himself, "I suppose, looking at things as they ought
to be looked at, Mrs Brown's girl has saved me from making a damned
fool of myself!  Now to work: that's my proper stunt."

He threw some sheets of foolscap on the table, took out his pen, and
sat down to his work.  For about five minutes he stared at the
foolscap, but the pen never made a movement.  Then abruptly he jumped
up and exclaimed--

"Dash it, I must!"

Snatching up an envelope, he thrust it in his pocket, and a moment
later was out of the house.

      *      *      *      *      *

Miss Holland and her escort were about fifty yards from Mrs Brown's
house when the girl started and looked back.

"There's some one crying on you!" she exclaimed.

Eileen stopped and peered back into the night.  It had clouded over and
was very dark.  Very vaguely something seemed to loom up in the path
behind them.

"Miss Holland!" cried a voice.

"It's the minister!" said the girl.

"The--who?" exclaimed Eileen; and added hastily, "Oh yes, I know who
you mean."

A tall figure disengaged itself from the surrounding night.

"Sorry to trouble you," said the voice in curiously quick and jerky
accents, "but I've got a note I want this girl to deliver immediately."

He handed her an envelope.

"Hand that in at the first farm on the other side of the Manse," he
commanded, pointing backwards into the darkness.  "I'll escort Miss
Holland."

"Which hoose----" began the girl.

"The first you come to!" said the Commander peremptorily.  "Quick as
you can!"

Then he looked at Eileen, and for a moment said nothing.

"What's the matter?" she asked anxiously.  "Has anything gone wrong?"

"Yes," he said with a half laugh, "I have.  I even forgot to lick down
that envelope.  How the deuce I'm to explain an empty, unaddressed,
unfastened envelope the Lord only knows!"  His manner suddenly changed
and he asked abruptly, "Are you in a desperate hurry to get in?  I've
something to say to you."

He paused and looked at her, but she said not a word in reply, not even
to inquire what it was.  A little jerkily he proceeded--

"I'm probably making just as great a fool of myself as Belke.  But I
couldn't let you go without asking--well, whether I am merely making a
fool of myself.  If you know what I mean and think I am, well, please
just tell me you can manage to see yourself safely home--I know it's
only about fifty yards--and I'll go and get that wretched envelope back
from the girl and tell her another lie."

"Why should I think you are making a fool of yourself?" she asked in a
voice that was very quiet, but not quite as even as she meant.

"Let's turn back a little way," he suggested quickly.

She said nothing, but she turned.

"Take my arm, won't you," he suggested.

In the bitterness of his heart he was conscious that he had rapped out
this proposal in his sharpest quarter-deck manner.  And he had meant to
speak so gently!  Yet she took his arm, a little timidly it is true,
but no wonder, thought he.  For a few moments they walked in silence,
falling slower and slower with each step; and then they stopped.  At
that, speech seemed to be jerked out of him at last.

"I wonder if it's conceivable that you'd ever look upon me as anything
but a calculating machine?" he inquired.

"I never thought of you in the least as that!" she exclaimed.

The gallant Commander evidently regarded this as a charitable
exaggeration.  He shook his head.

"You must sometimes.  I know I must have seemed that sort of person."

"Not to me," she said.

He seemed encouraged, but still a little incredulous.

"Then did you ever really think of me as a human being--as a--as a--"
he hesitated painfully--"as a friend?"

"Yes," she said, "of course I did--always as a friend."

"Could you possibly--conceivably--think of me as"--he hesitated, and
then blurted out--"as, dash it all, head over ears in love with you?"

And then suddenly the Commander realised that he had not made a fool of
himself after all.

The empty envelope was duly delivered, but no explanation was required.
Mrs Brown's girl supplied all the information necessary.

"Of course I knew fine what he was after," said she.



PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS.



William Blackwood & Sons'

Popular New Books.


CROWN 8vo. 6s. NET,

Ian Hay's Continued Chronicle of a Unit of K(l).

CARRYING ON--

AFTER THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND.

BY THE JUNIOR SUB.  (IAN HAY).


CROWN 8vo. 5s. NET.

THE SCENE OF WAR.

  ENGLAND.    FRANCE.  ITALY.     GREECE.
  MACEDONIA.  THE MEDITERRANEAN.  MESOPOTAMIA.

BY V. C. SCOTT O'CONNOR

(ODYSSEUS), Author of 'The Silken East.'


CROWN 8vo. 5s. NET.

THE DOINGS OF THE FIFTEENTH INFANTRY BRIGADE.

AUGUST 1914 TO MARCH 1915.

BY ITS COMMANDER,

BRIGADIER-GENERAL COUNT GLEICHEN

(now Major-General LORD EDWARD GLEICHEN).

K.C.V.O., C.B., C.M.G., D.S.O.


CROWN 8vo. 5s. NET. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS.

BESIEGED IN KUT--AND AFTER.

BY MAJOR CHARLES H. BARBER,

I.M.S.

"Major Barber's book is a little epic."--_The Times_.

"This story of the Siege will live."--_The British Medical Journal_.


CROWN 8vo. 5s. NET.

AN AIRMAN'S OUTINGS.

BY "CONTACT."

With Introduction by MAJOR-GENERAL W. S. BRANCKER (Deputy
Director-General of Military Aeronautics).


SECOND IMPRESSION.  CROWN 8vo. 5s. NET.

THE ADVENTURES OF AN ENSIGN.

BY VEDETTE.

"One of the best War Narratives that have appeared even in
'Blackwood's,' and that is saying a very great deal."


FOURTH IMPRESSION. 5s. NET.

GOG.

THE STORY OF AN OFFICER AND GENTLEMAN.

BY ARTHUR FETTERLESS,

Author of 'The Pomanders,' &c.

"One of the very best."--_Spectator_.


CROWN 8vo. 5s. NET.

THE SPY IN BLACK.

BY J. STORER CLOUSTON,

Author of 'The Lunatic at Large,' &c.


CROWN 8vo. 5s. NET.

HONOR AMONG THIEVES.

BY GABRIELLE FESTING,

Author of 'When Kings rode to Delhi,' &c.


CROWN 8vo. 6s.

THE KINGDOM OF WASTE LANDS.

By SYDNEY C. GRIER.


CROWN 8vo. 5s. NET.

WALTER GREENWAY, SPY AND HERO.

BY ROBERT HOLMES.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Spy in Black" ***

Copyright 2023 LibraryBlog. All rights reserved.